


The Science of Romance

by FivePips



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Matchmaker AU, Matchmaker Sherlock, Matchmaking, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 50,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FivePips/pseuds/FivePips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is the Consulting Matchmaker who doesn't believe in love and soulmates. John Watson comes into his life and begins to help with his clientele. Sherlock quickly decides he needs to set John up with someone but there doesn't seem to be a match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Introduction

When John Watson woke up in a hospital bed, he could not begin to imagine what his life was going to be like without being in the army. It was as if civilian life was some sort of very, very distant memory. He had never really known a life without work, school, or war, so going back to having nothing on was a bit daunting. It was just a great, big, vast emptiness.  
  
John was going to have to find a job and go to the shops and do his laundry… the daily tedium was frightening to him. He wasn’t sure where to start with being a normal person.  
  
For years he was used to hearing a faint sound of mortar in the distance and being up to his elbows in blood and guts. Even when it was boring, there was something around to entertain him. At least there was the possibility that something would be happening very soon.  
  
He was never alone either; he always had people to be with. When he wanted companionship, there was someone else who would join him in bed. When he needed someone to talk to, there was someone he could turn to, no questions asked.  
  
But back in England, he only had himself and nothing else. His parents were long gone, and his sister was normally too pissed to lend him an ear. She tried her best when he came home, but it didn’t take her long to fall back into old habits. John left because he needed to take care of himself, so he rented out a tiny, grimy bedsit on his pension. He was completely alone in the big city of London with nothing to do.  
  
About six months on, it turned out to be the most boring and agonizing existence that he could ever think of. When he slept, he had nightmares of the war; when he was awake, he was so lonely that he almost wanted to be having horrible dreams. He hadn’t realised that he was going to miss being around the other men so much.  
  
Just when he thought his life was over because he was going to die of boredom or possibly just kill himself - because what did he really have - he got a part-time position at a clinic. Things started to look up for him. It was mind-numbing work, but it was something to pass the time… well that was when he was called in for shifts. He was there mostly to cover for the other doctors. But it was something that he could look forward to.  
  
But he was still lonely.  
  
 On a walk home one day from the surgery, he bumped into an old friend from med school, Mike Stamford. They got on the subject of how John was still single, so he declared that he needed to set him up. Mike had always thought himself a bit of a matchmaker, so John decided to entertain him; it was better than sitting home alone. Maybe he could finally find a life partner.  
  
The date was dreadful, though: she was the most boring person he’d ever met. She talked for a good twenty minutes about her cat. John liked animals as much as the next person, but listening to how Sir Whiskerson was diabetic and a detailed record about his struggles to keep his levels under control wasn’t something he wanted to do on a first date.  
  
Who knows, maybe things had changed since his years at Uni in dating? Maybe the whole world was just bloody boring. Or maybe he was too bloody old to be dating.  
  
That little background brings us to why John Watson was sitting at the bar of the restaurant he had been eating at with the most boring human on earth.  
  
This whole bit brought him directly into the sight of the person who would change his life forever.  
  
“That’s why you don’t trust amateurs,” A deep voice came from his right.  
  
“Pardon me?” John turned his head to see a tall, posh looking bloke in a tight suit and long coat.  
  
“You were set up on a date, and it went south very quickly. Now you’re drinking because you’re trying to dull the horrible experience and you have some latent alcoholic tendencies as well,” the man said as the bartender placed a glass of amber liquid in front of him.  
  
John felt like he had been hit in the face but it was oddly brilliant. “Ah… What?” He couldn’t really manage to say much else.  
  
“May I borrow your phone? I drained my battery earlier and haven’t had a chance to charge it up again,” he said while glowering down at the black screen.  
  
John nodded slowly and handed over his phone once unlocking it. “How do you know that I was on a date?”  
  
The man went on speaking as he typed out a text message, “I also know you're an Army doctor, and you've been invalided home from either Afghanistan or Iraq and I know your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid.”  
  
“So how do you know all this stuff about me?” John raised a curious eyebrow. He either had a stalker, or this guy was a bloody genius. He was very much hoping for the latter in this case.  
  
The man let out a long suffering sigh while handing back John’s mobile, “To start with, you were on a date. You’re wearing too much cologne, cheap kind for that matter, but not so cheap that you’d be mistaken for a teenager. You’re on a budget. All your clothes are new but cheap as well, but they appear nice to an untrained eye. You can’t afford very nice things, but you’re at a nice restaurant and you’re trying to appear to have some money. You could have been meeting with family, but the way you’re dressed doesn’t say family time. It says date. So does the time and day.  
  
“You didn’t really know how to prepared for it, did you? Which is understandable; one doesn’t go on many dates in the middle of a war, do they?”  
  
“How do you know I was an army doctor?” He looked down at himself, trying to think of what gave him away.  
  
“Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But I just saw your ID card for the surgery you work at when you paid for your drink, and it said Doctor John Watson. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists: you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but when you stand, like now, it’s as if you nearly forgot about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. Your therapist at least has that part right. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic: wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan: Afghanistan or Iraq. Which was it? I can’t deduce that as much as I try. Maybe if I saw your flat, but I can’t right now.”  
  
“Ah, Afghanistan.” Of course, John needed to know more, “You said I had a therapist?” He felt a bit dazzled.  
  
“You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course you've got a therapist. “  
  
“That was amazing,” John said slowly.  
  
“You think so?” He seemed shocked by John’s reaction.  
  
“Of course it was.”  
  
“That’s not what people normally say.” The man scrunched his nose.  
  
“What do people normally said?”  
  
“Piss off.” He smiled then both of them broke into laughter because it seemed like the right thing to do after a man you didn’t know tore into your life.  
  
After their chuckles died down, John realised he very much wanted to continue talking to this very interesting man. “So, you know my name. What’s yours?”  
  
“Sherlock Holmes.” He stuck out his hand.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Sherlock,” John nodded as they shook. He noted how large the man’s hands were. He wasn’t sure why he did that, but he did. Well yes he did, it was some sort of Freudian thing. Big hands means… you know.  
  
Sherlock hummed in agreement because he seemed like the type of person who thought, ‘Yes, it is nice to meet me’.  
  
“How do you do that then?” He moved his hand around to explain ‘that’.  
  
“I observe everything. Most people see, but they don’t observe. There’s a whole part of the world out there that people are missing, and it’s right in front of their eyes but they’re just far too stupid,” He explained.  
  
“Am I stupid?”  
  
“Probably.”  
  
John scoffed but wasn’t very offended because he hadn’t become a doctor by being a complete dolt. “What do you do with that then? Some sort of police detective? Some type of engineer or chemist, maybe?”  
  
“No, I’m a matchmaker. The best in the world, actually. That’s why I said you shouldn’t trust amateurs. I did give that a bit of a guess but since you haven’t said anything thing about it, I’m right.”  
  
John furrowed his brow in confusion because the man was bloody brilliant but was in the matchmaking business and not any type of real thing that some bloke like that would be in. If this was where the world’s brightest mind was hiding, then he was shocked.  
  
“Yes, I get that look a lot.”  
  
“I don’t doubt that. Why do you do it?”  
  
“Because I can.”  
  
“I could have been a… I don’t know… I mechanic but I’m a doctor. I could have been a lot of things because I could.”  
  
“Army doctor,” He corrected as if John forgot. “There are situations that lead people down certain life paths. I’m assuming family background lead you to the military. I’m unsure of the medical degree, though.”  
  
“Right, so what were your paths and circumstances to lead you that way?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged before looking to his watch. “My client should be here in a minute.”  
  
“Right then, nice meeting you.” John was sorry to see the man go. Aside from Mike he hadn’t had a decent interaction with another person since he was in Afghanistan.  
  
“How do you feel about the violin?”  
  
He wondered if he had missed something. “I’m sorry, what?”  
  
“I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for hours on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.”  
  
“Ah?” Apparently he had missed something, but Sherlock didn’t seem to miss a thing. Maybe John just blacked out for a moment? That was no good. Maybe a new PTSD symptom.  
  
“I’m looking for a flatmate as well and from what I’ve observed you’re not too terrible. I believe that we could coexist in peace, mostly.”  
  
John was taken aback. “I never said…”  
  
“Yes, I know but the browser on your phone was open when you handed it over to me and you were looking at advertss online for flatmates.  
  
“There’s this place I’ve had my eye on. If you’re interested, we can stop by tomorrow afternoon. The address is 221B Baker Street. Here’s my card.” He slapped the business card on the table and with that Sherlock was off to greet his client and disappeared into the restaurant.

 **Sherlock Holmes**   
**Consulting Matchmaker**   
**The Science of Romance**

John studied the card, finding the man’s number scrolled on the back. He put it away for safe keeping, then went on to finish his drink.  
  
John walked to the tube station, thinking of his encounter with the strange man. He did need to take some financial burden off of himself and move into a nice place but with this Sherlock? He had met the man for five minutes and thought him a bit barmy, but John had done madder things in his life.  
  
When he got home, he Googled Sherlock Holmes, just to make sure the man wasn’t some wanted psycho killer. What came up was his match-making website. It explained how he used the Science of Romance in order to match people to their mates.

> _I’m Sherlock Holmes, the world’s best consulting matchmaker. I’m not going to explain to you the process because chances are you wouldn’t understand. If you are interested in finding your partner, then contact me. Challenging clients only, please._   
>   
> _This is what I do:_   
> _1\. I observe everything._   
> _2\. From what I observe, I deduce everything._   
> _3\. When I’ve eliminated the impossible matches, whoever remains, no matter how not your type they might seem, is your partner._

“Arrogant prick,” John laughed to himself as he looked through the web page.   
  
There was a section with customer reviews. Most of them said that Sherlock was a dick but brilliant and they’d all had success with him.

> _Lydia M. : Mr Holmes was fantastic! I found the love of my life and it only took him one go at it._   
>   
> _Richard B. : Sherlock Holmes is the world’s best matchmaker. I tried online dating and another so-called matchmaker but this bloke is the real deal. If you can deal with him being a bit of a twat then you’ll find true happiness!_   
>   
> _Sarah T. : The first time I met him, he made me cry and I said I’d never go back to him again but he sent me a match via email and I’m now engaged. It was worth it._

To John it sounded like he needed a little help with his customer service, but his business seemed to be booming. With a little help, the man could probably build a small business empire.  
  
With this little information, he decided to give Sherlock another meeting tomorrow, to at least look at the flat. Yes, John Hamish Watson was that mad.  
  
Plus, he needed to know how this arsehole was a matchmaker and how he got started. He didn’t have to move in with him, but maybe they could get a cuppa after looking around the flat Sherlock had mentioned.  
  
What was the worst that could happen…? Well, he could be a serial killer or a possible stalker, but John was never a man to turn away from possible danger. If the flat looked like a murder den, then he could just get right out of there.  
  
John grabbed his mobile and texted the man:

> _How’s tomorrow around one to look at the flat? — John Watson_   
>   
> _One is perfect. Why don’t you use Dr? —SH_   
>   
> _I don’t know… What don’t you use Matchmaker?_   
>   
> _Because people brag about being Doctors. — SH_   
>   
> _Fair point but I don’t._   
>   
> _Hmm, that’s good. — SH_   
>   
> _Tomorrow, then?_   
>   
> _Yes, goodnight, Dr Watson. — SH_   
>   
> _Night._

John felt himself smile but immediately stopped it because he couldn’t understand why he was grinning. He must have been losing his sodding mind if he was excited to possibly make friends with someone.


	2. At Least Buy Me Lunch First

The next morning John woke up excited.  
  
There was definitely something wrong with him because why was he smiling? He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so happy to wake up. Was it interaction with someone who didn’t bore him to death? Probably. Bloody hell, his life was boring.  
  
He felt like he was anticipating a first date, but it wasn’t; it was just some random bloke he met at a bar who could be a potential flatmate. The flatmate thing could be a bit far-fetched as well, but he could be a friend. He didn’t have many friends whom he really wanted to see in England, and nearly all his army mates were dead or still overseas. He hadn’t been in touch with his old school mates for years and had little interest in seeing any of them. All the other doctors at the office were married or always busy. Maybe this bloke was something good for him?  
  
John passed the day with breakfast and a walk before heading over to Baker Street. The entire time, he spent wondering what a friendship with Sherlock Holmes would be like. He couldn’t really be too sure because he didn’t know much about him. What he did know was that he wasn’t exactly a people person.  
  
His first thought upon walking up the street was, No way. It was a nice area, so much better than where he was living. There was no way on earth that he would be able to afford it, even as a flatshare. Even if he didn’t eat and walked everywhere, his pension probably wouldn’t cut it in the area.  
  
“Mr Holmes.”  
  
“Doctor Watson,” Sherlock greeted him as he walked up to the flat.  
  
“You can call me John” he replied before they shook hands.  
  
“Very well, you may call me Sherlock. I do hate formalities,” the man said before tapping on the door. As if reading John’s mind, “I know you’re thinking that you won’t be able to afford it, but the rate is very good. The landlady owes me a favour. Some would say it’s a steal.”  
  
John nodded as the door swung open, and an older woman threw her arms around Sherlock. “Oh hello, Sherlock, I’m so happy to see you.”  
  
“Mrs Hudson,” he said when he pulled away. John laughed because Sherlock had just said to him he hated formalities but called a woman he clearly knew ‘Mrs.’ “This is Doctor John Watson.” And he insisted on adding the ‘Doctor’ prefix to his name all the time.  
  
“It’s nice to meet you, dear.” She smiled at him warmly.  
  
“You as well, Mrs Hudson.”  
  
“Come in darlings, let me show you up to the flat.” The woman gestured behind her.  
  
She went on to chat with Sherlock about how his work was going as they walked into the foyer and up the stairs to 221B. They entered the empty flat, “And there’s another bedroom up the stairs… if you need it.”  
  
“Oh, no, we’re not dating.” John chuckled as he took in the ridiculous wallpaper. Other than that, the flat had a nice, cozy feel. He could get used to the wallpaper. It felt more like a home than his bedsit, but could he really live with this stranger…  
  
“Pity, I thought our matchmaker finally made a match for himself. It’d be good for business if he found himself someone.” She looked over at Sherlock who was examining the kitchen. “If you two do get together it doesn’t matter to me. We have all types around here. Mrs Turner has married ones next door.”  
  
“The counter space is lousy but I’ll make do,” Sherlock ignored her implications, so John did so as well. Jumping from complete stranger to flatmate was enough, no need to add the layer of live-in boyfriend.  
  
“Now that he’s your friend, you need to make sure that he finds someone if it’s not you. You would think that someone who is so good at finding others’ soul mates would have found his own by now.”  
  
“I don’t do soul mates, Mrs Hudson.” He came out from the kitchen.  
  
“Then what do you do?” John questioned.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes as if the question was silly. “Mrs Hudson, when can we move in?”  
  
“Whenever you’d like, dear.” She smiled, “I’ll leave you two to chat. But one more thing, if you do move in I won’t be your housekeeper.” Mrs Hudson left them as promised.  
  
“I assume you’d need to straighten things out at your bedsit before moving.”  
  
John shifted his weight, “We’ve known each other for maybe ten minutes. I’m not sure if I could just move in someone I don’t know.”  
  
“You’re a very unhappy man. You can’t stand living alone. You’re adventurous. You’re looking for something to occupy your time; you could help with my work. I’m not a serial killer and if you don’t want to, you don’t have to interact with me. I need a flatmate and you could do with a change.”  
  
“Can we go get lunch first at least? I barely know anything about you, aside from your website.”  
  
“You found my website?” Sherlock perked up. “What do you think?”  
  
“You need to work on how you deal with clients and maybe explain your services more on there. You’re a bit short with all that.”  
  
He scowled, “I do very well.”  
  
“I’m sure you do, but maybe you could do better. You said I could help you with your work,” John reminded him. “I could be a bit of a go-between. It seems like you need it.”  
  
He thought that, as someone who was supposedly so good at putting people in relationships, Sherlock should have been good at cultivating his own. From what Mrs Hudson had said and how Sherlock acted, John was sure he had no idea how to do so. It was probably why he thought he could just ask a man he chatted with at a bar for a few minutes to be his flatmate.  
  
The taller man pouted, “Fine, let’s go to lunch then.”  
  
“Let’s check out the other bedroom and bath first. If I do move in here, I’d like to see what I’m getting into.”  
  
Sherlock nodded before taking off in the direction of the bedroom past the kitchen.

***

“So, why are you a matchmaker?” John asked after they settled into a table at a place called Angelo’s.  
  
It was the second time in less than a half hour that someone had thought Sherlock and he were dating. The owner, Angelo, greeted Sherlock with a bear hug (Sherlock did not enjoy it) and then asked if John they’d like a candle for the table. John shot it down because why did you have to date the bloke that you were spending time with? Did Sherlock not have mates or boyfriends or girlfriends? He was going to have to get to that later, but first he wanted to know the deal about the matchmaker job.  
  
Apparently, Sherlock had found Angelo his wife and since then he was paying Sherlock back with delicious Italian meals.  
  
“Because I make money from it and I’m very good at it. It also makes my brother very annoyed with me; he believes that I’m wasting my talents.”  
  
John nodded, “I guess I can see that. You must really want to spite your brother.”  
  
“He’s nosy and awful.”  
  
“That can’t be it, can it?”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Do you enjoy it?”  
  
Sherlock just shrugged as Angelo came over with the candle and a bottle of wine.  
  
“I know it’s early, but every date needs wine. Only the best for Mr Holmes.” Angelo grinned, “Are you ready to order?”  
  
“Yes, I will have my usual and John will have the Eggplant Parmigiana.” Sherlock said as the large Italian restaurateur poured wine.  
  
He couldn’t think quickly enough to say something before Angelo walked away, “I… I would have liked to order for myself. That was a bit not good.”  
  
“I knew that’s what you were going to get. When you read it on the specials board, you looked interested and you didn’t even glance at the menu.”  
  
“Ok, but if I moved in with you and we did become mates, you couldn’t keep doing that to me.”  
  
“Why would we be mates?”  
  
“I don’t know, that’s just something that usually happens. We don’t have to be friends but it would help if we got on… do you have friends?”  
  
He shrugged, “I’m not sure how that’s important.”  
  
“Because normally people don’t want to be alone. That’s why you even have a business in the first place.”  
  
“Why all the questions?”  
  
“I’m trying to get to know you.”  
  
“I’m 32 years old, and I studied chemistry at Uni. I do not drink or throw parties. I enjoy science, so I do experiments. I play the violin to think. I am a matchmaker. My brother is a nuisance. There is a detective inspector who attempts to get me involved in solving crimes, whom I believe should be with my brother but neither will listen to me. I need a flatmate in order to move into this flat.” Sherlock rambled off.  
  
“Ok, but what about friends?”  
  
“I’m sure there are people who consider themselves friends of mine.”  
  
“But not them to you…”  
  
“No.”  
  
John nodded, wondering if Sherlock was terribly lonely. If he were, John could completely understand because he was too.  
  
“I know you’re going to move in; there’s no use putting it off.”  
  
“If I do, you have to stop telling me what I’m going to do and what I’m not going to do or what I like.”  
  
Sherlock huffed, “Fine.”  
  
“If you have anything you want me to stop doing, then you can tell me.”  
  
“All right. But you will move in? You’ll never beat the price and location of 221B.” He almost sounded as if he was pleading with John to stay.  
  
That made John feel a bit sad. “Yeah, yes.”  
  
Fucking Christ, good thing he had no friends because they would all say that he was barmy. The man could be a murderer.  
  
“Good, it’s ready whenever we want to move in. I’ll be bringing my things over straight away.”  
  
“I need to wait ‘til the end of the month,” John said.  
  
“That’s all right, Mrs Hudson says we don’t need to begin payment until next month. I’ll be living there the next few weeks for free.”  
  
John nodded, “So did you match Mrs Hudson to her husband.”  
  
Sherlock snorted out a laugh, “No, rather the opposite.”  
  
“You broke it up?”  
  
“I guess, technically, you could say so.”  
  
“Technically?” John watched Sherlock tap his fingers on the wine glass.  
  
“In another time I was interested in criminal investigations. She contacted me when her husband was on death row in Florida.”  
  
Ah, so there was much more to Sherlock than matchmaking. He knew it. “Wait, you saved her husband, so how did you break them up?”  
  
“Oh, no, I ensured that he was executed.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“He wasn’t a very nice man,” he said carefully.  
  
“Why did you stop solving crimes?”  
  
Sherlock just shrugged.  
  
Since they were going to be flatmates, John decided to leave it alone for now because he didn’t want to get kicked out of the flat before moving in. “So no friends… no recent girlfriend?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Boyfriend? Which is fine… by the way.”  
  
“I know it’s fine.”  
  
“So…”  
  
“I appreciate your interest but I’m married to my work.”  
  
“No, I’m not hitting on you,” John gulped down half of his glass. “I’m—”  
  
Sherlock looked at him, “You are looking for someone, if not me, correct?”  
  
“I wasn’t trying to… pull you. We’re bloody flatmates. Brand new ones at that.” Sure Sherlock was attractive but why on earth was everyone assuming that they were together or he was even interested? Even the tall git he was sitting across from.  
  
“Yes, I understand that,” Sherlock waved that off. “What I’m saying is you are looking for a girlfriend, a future wife I should say because you want to get married and settled down. If you didn’t, you’d still be shagging blokes.”  
  
John felt his cheeks turn red. “Right.”  
  
“I could find you someone. It’d much better than your terrible friends.”  
  
He licked his lips, “Maybe after I settle into the flat.”  
  
“Good, as long as you’re not trying to go out with me.”  
  
“I understand: you are a matchmaker who refuses to get into a relationship of any form,” John dead-panned.  
  
Sherlock let out a long groan, “Are you going to bring that up much? Because I might rethink my choice in flatmate.”  
  
“No, that’s it. I’m just trying to get my head around it.”  
  
“Ah, our food,” It was very obvious that Sherlock didn’t want anything to do with that topic anymore. “You’re going to enjoy it. Everything here is very good, especially the specials.”


	3. Sibling Check-ins

Since he finally had a permanent place to live, John went over to retrieve some things he had left at Harry’s. There hadn’t been much room in the tiny little bedsit he had been renting. He hadn’t seen some of it since before he left for Uni. When their parents died, Harry took the things John thought was important to keep around.  
  
“Where are you moving to?” She was, thankfully, sober when John turned up. He had called ahead just to make sure it was a decent time to come visit his sister. He had tried the day before, but she’d been slurring a bit. Christ, did he hate that he had to do that with her.  
  
“In Marylebone, in Westminster,” he explained as he picked up one of his boxes from the closet and slowly carried it to the living room.  
  
“Fuck off, you can’t afford to live there. Did you get bloody rich and didn’t tell me?” She yelled, following him out of the office.  
  
“No, but I got a good deal. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how much I was paying.” John set down his box on top of the chest he had pulled out earlier.  
  
“Flatmate? Girlfriend? You never tell me what you have on in your life. You could be married with a sodding child on the way, and I would have no idea!” Harry complained as she pulled back her dirty blonde hair before going into the kitchen.  
  
“Flatmate,” he said before going to get the last small box.  
  
It was good that he didn’t have much, because limping with a cane and carrying a box didn’t work well. Harry had to help him with the chest, but he was stubborn with the rest of his things. Hopefully Sherlock was going to be at Baker Street when he went over later, or most of his things were going to be staying at the bottom of the stairs.  
  
Moving was for people who did not have psychosomatic limps. Stupid bloody thing ruined everything.  
  
“Tea? And a flatmate? Aren’t you a bit old?” She yelled.  
  
“Yes, and that is what I just said, Harry. I’m not really making enough to live in London.” He struggled to get a good grip on the box before making his way back out.  
  
Harry was standing in living room with her arms crossed. “Who?”  
  
“This bloke.”  
  
“This bloke, what bloke? Do I know him?” She waved her hands around. She was so dramatic sometimes.  
  
“For god sakes, why does it matter? I’m a grown man. I’ve been to war! I am able to make my own choices.”  
  
“You got shot and nearly died the last time you made your own choices!”  
  
“Calm down - this bloke isn’t going to kill me.” At least he didn’t think so, but he really didn’t know much about him.  
  
Following their lunch a few days ago, John had only texted Sherlock things about the flat (e.g., who got which room, how they would pay the utilities, if there should be a telly in the living room, if John had any allergies…).  
  
John knew Sherlock’s age and what he had studied at Uni. But he didn’t know where he had grown up and where it was he’d got that education. Obviously posh places, judging by his looks and how he spoke, but where, he had no clue. Sherlock didn’t date or have friends, leaving John to assume that something terrible must have happened in his past. Possibly it had to do with his previous crime solving, to mistrust people. Maybe it had something to do with his brother, as they apparently didn’t get on.  
  
Sherlock didn’t seem the type to disclose much about himself, so John was just going to have to learn things when he moved in. Or maybe pry it out of him, somehow. Alcohol was probably the only way.  
  
For a man his age, it was probably odd that he knew next to nothing about his future flatmate and only knew him for an hour total before moving in with him, but that’s what he knew. He’d done it in Uni, and then he’d done it in the army. That was his life. At least now he was going to have much more privacy and options if he didn’t get on with the other man.  
  
“What’s his name? How do you know him?”  
  
“His name is Sherlock, and I met him at a restaurant after I went on a failed date.”  
  
“When?”  
  
“About five days ago.” He knew he shouldn’t have told the truth right as it came out of his mouth.  
  
“John Hamish Watson! That is not good.”  
  
John shook his head as he went to go sit down in the kitchen. Harry wasn’t the one who should have been giving advice on good or bad choices, but he didn’t say a word to her because that’d cause a row. He’d like to get through one visit with her without some type of blowup.  
  
“He could be anyone.”  
  
“I met people he knows, and I looked him up on the internet. It’s all fine, Harry.” He promised.  
  
“Do you fancy him? Are you two shagging?”  
  
Really, she didn’t even know Sherlock and she was accusing John of wanting him or them possibly being in a relationship? How was that even possible?  
  
“No.” He answered simply as the kettle boiled.  
  
Harry stalked over to it, complaining the whole time about how John always just threw himself into things that were probably unsafe. He held his tongue again because he could think of plenty of times she’d done something that was unsafe. Hell, there were probably loads more examples that he had no clue about.  
  
“It’s why you’re never going to get married.”  
  
“How do you know I want to get married?”  
  
“Because you’re traditional. That’s who you are,” she said. “Yes, you like the unexpected but you also want the picket fence and the kids running about in the garden. You’re an odd one. Good luck finding someone who fills everything you need.”  
  
He just watched her prepare the tea quietly. Maybe Sherlock could find someone for him; he’d have to take him up on that offer of matching.

***

Meanwhile, on Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes was studying the cracks in the ceiling as he turned over his information on Doctor John Watson.

      _— 34 year old male_  
 _— 1.69 m_  
 _— Healthy weight but a bit soft, lost his army muscle, probably mad about that_  
 _— Psychosomatic limp, occasional tremble in hand, PTSD_  
 _— Goes to therapist, doesn’t get much from it_  
 _— Not trusting but enjoys adventure so it did not take much to convince him to move in with me_  
 _— Misses being in the army_  
 _— Doesn’t feel useful where he works_  
 _— Horrid family life_  
 _— Very caring, fussed over lunch, saying I didn’t eat enough_  
 _— Finds me interesting, didn’t punch me or curse at me like most do_  
 _— Thinks it’s strange that I’m a matchmaker, but many do_  
 _— Doesn’t like the reasons why I gave him why I’m a matchmaker_  
 _— I find him interesting… curious_  
 _— I don’t mind spending time with him… even more curious_

“Well, not even moved in a week and this place is a tip. I’m sure your flatmate won’t be too happy.”  
  
Sherlock groaned upon hearing his brother’s naturally condensing tone, “Why are you here? I told Mrs Hudson to never let you in.”  
  
Mycroft tsked, “I’m your brother. I’m looking after you, as always.”  
  
“I have a mother and father who are perfectly capable of being an annoyance. I don’t need you poking about as well.” He sat up on the sofa and glared at his bother.  
  
Mycroft was in his typical three piece suit, leaning on his umbrella while looking smug in the middle of the living room. “Mummy and Father are enjoying retirement, someone needs to look after you.”  
  
“No, no one needs to look after me now. I’m fine. What are you doing here?”  
  
“I’m checking the new flat. It’s much better than the little hell-hole that you lived in before. You can actually meet clients here. There’s no smell to put them off. Though, I’m sure you’ll take care of that yourself with your experiments.”  
  
Sherlock jumped off of the sofa, drawing himself to full height to look down his nose at Mycroft. “I’m sure you’ve already had it bugged. I checked it before I moved my things in, but you probably came through while I was out yesterday. I don’t know why you’re so concerned about my security. It’s not as if I have criminal masterminds after me. I’m a matchmaker!”  
  
“You have a past of investigating crimes,” his brother reminded him as if he did not remember those terrible things that had happened. He chose never to think about it, but he remembered.  
  
Sherlock huffed, “It’s in the past, very much so.”  
  
“It’s when one lets their guard down that they’re taken by surprise.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you talking about my past coming to haunt me, or are you talking of someone I’ve recently met because either way it’s… bollocks.”  
  
Mycroft had a look of surprise on his face for the use of Sherlock’s language. “You’ve moved very fast with this Doctor Watson.”  
  
“He’s just a man I’m sharing a flat with. It’s not as if we’re a couple.”  
  
“You don’t need to share a flat; you have plenty of money.”  
  
“I do not need my family’s money. It got me out of enough as well as into enough trouble in my past. I’m fine on my own.”  
  
“You’re not alone, you’re going to have your own little flatmate.”  
  
“He’s just here to provide the rest of the rent so I can live in a larger place. I believe that he’s going to be able offer something business wise as well. He believes that I need to work on my customer service skills, but I’d rather not so I’m sure he’ll be of some use there.” Sherlock brushed his hands down his shirt.  
  
“It’s all right to want companionship, you know.”  
  
“How would you know?” Sherlock questioned before walking into the kitchen. “Lestrade’s marriage is on the rocks. You should go pop by and say hello, give it a nice push over the edge.”  
  
“Sherlock, I have no interest in Gregory Lestrade.”  
  
Mycroft had plenty of interest in the Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard. They had met years ago when Sherlock was in a bit of trouble and since then had been in touch when Sherlock was working through some things. It was obvious to Sherlock that they were a perfect match and even more obvious that Lestrade’s marriage was on the rocks, even when they had met. But neither of the men would talk about anything but work and Sherlock.  
  
“Right.” He flung open his freezer and took out the pig hearts. “I’ve experiments to get on with, so see yourself out — if you can fit through the door.”  
  
“No work?”  
  
“Not at the moment.” He dropped the tray on the kitchen table, maybe a loud clang. “Leave.”  
  
“Fine, I’ll be off but don’t forget to call Mummy. She is very interested in visiting the new flat and meeting your friend.”  
  
“He’s not my friend.” Sherlock rummaged around for just the right knife.  
  
“Yes, we’ll see.” Mycroft said before leaving, thankfully. He probably said a few more things, but Sherlock ignored him.  
  
He was too busy working on the hearts.  
  
Sherlock wasn’t sure how much time passed before he heard John’s voice.

“What the bloody hell are you doing? Christ, I moved in with a serial killer.” The man mumbled the last bit as he set down a box and his cane by the door.  
  
“It’s an experiment. I told you I carry on with these types of things.”  
  
“Right, but I didn’t think you’d be dissecting pig hearts.”  
  
“How did you know that it’s a pig heart?”  
  
“Because I attended medical school.” John came closer to the table to see what Sherlock was getting up to.  
  
He set the knife down and studied John. He was more intrigued than worried. “You’re not leaving.”  
  
“No, this won’t chase me out of here. If it were a human body, maybe.” The army doctor shrugged.  
  
“I actually doubt that.” Sherlock went to wash his hands.  
  
“I’m just dropping some stuff off. Are you doing anything? Maybe we could get dinner tonight?”  
  
“Possibly. Where?”  
  
“I’m not sure, do you know anywhere good?”  
  
“Several places. There’s a Chinese restaurant not too far from here; we can eat for free.”  
  
“Make a match for them?”  
  
“For the owner’s daughter. It was an arranged marriage that she didn’t want to get into at first, but she was very happy when she got to know him.”  
  
John was smiling when he turned away from the sink. “You reluctantly make people happy for the rest of their lives.”  
  
“The rest of their lives?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Do you know of any divorces or breakups?”  
  
“I only hear from the ones that I match correctly. But I can assume that I have a success rate of 95%. I’ve only been doing this for four years.”  
  
“What were you doing before that?”  
  
“Various things.” He didn’t need John knowing about his past; it was over and had nothing to do with his current life.  
  
“Like…”  
  
Sherlock binned the pig hearts, “I travelled.” It wasn’t a lie - he had travelled in the past.  
  
“You can’t just throw them in the bin!” John was utterly horrified.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Health and safety.”  
  
“John, no one is going to die. Those pig hearts were completely safe. It’s just stupid rules.”  
  
John groaned, “Rules? Laws!”  
  
“You can be a bit hot-headed, and you really enjoy rules.”  
  
“I’m a law-abiding citizen.”  
  
“Queen and County and all that.”  
  
“Let’s move on because clearly we’re not getting anywhere. Will you help me bring my chest up? I can’t carry it all on my own.”  
  
Sherlock nodded quickly. He was glad to move away from the subject of himself. That was probably going to be a bit more difficult when John moved in.  
  
“John, you know you’re walking down the stairs without your cane?” He asked as he followed John down the stairs.  
  
The man stopped and leaned against the wall. “Not until you said that.”  
  
“Did it hurt?”  
  
“Not until you said something.”  
  
“Has that happened before?” Sherlock stepped down a few below John so they were eye level.  
  
“No, not that I know of. Unless it just happens and I just have no idea.” His eyes were wide with confusion. “Can you fetch me my cane?”  
  
Sherlock hesitated for a moment before nodding.  
  
Having John as a flatmate had just become far more interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: John's First Client


	4. John's First Client

John finally moved in to Baker Street officially about a week later. The doctor didn’t have many things but was always going on about how Sherlock had so much. Sherlock decided that it was a good thing: he could fill up the empty spaces with his things and there would be no struggle for space in the apartment.  
  
John thought otherwise and told Sherlock that he was a hoarder _(he likened me to some smug type of dragon in a book… Lord of the Flies? No, that wasn’t right… John assumed I had read it when I was a child, if I did I had deleted it_ ) and needed to get that sorted out.  
  
“Do you really need all these old classifieds?” John gestured to the piles of paper.  
  
“Yes.” Sherlock answered simply.  
  
“What do you even do with them?”  
  
“If I’m looking for a match for someone, I glance through these and look into any that could possibly match and then meet with the people. I know you think it wouldn’t work very well, but I’ve made numerous matches this way.”  
  
“Ok, but we do have the internet.”  
  
“Yes, and people also use these papers as well.”  
  
“Ok, fine. I highly doubt these are all up to date but, whatever. I give up, for now. Can we at least move them from the table top? I’d like to be able to have room in my kitchen to eat. Not that I’m sure I want to eat on this table after I saw you hacking away at a pig heart the other week.”  
  
“I’ll move them to my desk.” Sherlock tried to look put out about the whole thing, but he really didn’t care.  
  
“Good and I’ll sanitise the table once you do that so I can eat and not worry about dying.” John nodded before limping off to his room to finish with his unpacking.  
  
Sherlock had no idea what caused John to forget about his leg for only a few moments on the stairs, before. It was a nice little mystery, that psychosomatic limp.  
  
In the first day of living with John, Sherlock barely noticed things had changed. He kept to himself, aside from the fussing over cleanliness for a bit and making dinner or tea. It was odd when Sherlock came out of his room to find John reading the paper and eating his breakfast on the only clean corner of the table. He had even made toast and coffee for Sherlock. It was strange.  
  
“Sherlock, there’s someone here for you!” Mrs Hudson called up.  
  
“Send him up!” He replied as John appeared in the kitchen again.  
  
“Not your housekeeper!”  
  
John appeared in the kitchen once more but missing his cane. “You’re going to let someone see the flat like this? What if it’s a client? You don’t want them to see it like this.”  
  
“It can’t be a client. They don’t have my address, and I haven’t made any appointments to meet one here today.”  
  
“But still…”  
  
“It’s either my brother or,” He looked in the door way to see Lestrade, “Detective Inspector Lestrade.”  
  
John was a bit lost on the title. Why wouldn’t he be, why would a matchmaker be receiving a visit from a DI?  
  
“How’d you get my address? In contact with my brother? You should ask him to dinner after you ditch your loveless marriage. He does love to eat, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind spending time with you in an unofficial capacity.” Sherlock grabbed a stack of the personal advertisements John had been complaining about earlier.  
  
“You’re not a client?”  
  
“No, he tries to harass me into doing his work for him.” Sherlock explained to his flatmate before ushering Lestrade into the living room.  
  
“I didn’t know you had a flatmate now,” he gestured to John.  
  
“I’m John Watson, by the way.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Greg Lestrade. You must have the patience of a saint… Are you dating?” He squinted a bit.  
  
“Why does everyone assume that?”  
  
“Why, who else has?” Sherlock fiddled with the classifieds.  
  
“Mrs Hudson, Angelo, Harry, and now…”  
  
“That’s hardly everyone.” He added Mycroft to the list in his head.  
  
“Well, everyone I’ve spoken to about this.”  
  
“It’s assumed that men our age should be settling down into serious relationships, that’s why.” He explained. “Now, Lestrade, what do you want?”  
  
“There’s these statues of Napoleon that have been smashed, three now. The first two, I didn’t think there was a connection, but now we’re on the third and that’s just bloody weird.”  
  
“I’m not a detective.” Sherlock folded his arms. “You get paid to solve the crimes and keep London safe from statue vandals.”  
  
“But you used to be?” John wondered aloud.  
  
“Not in the official sense.”  
  
“He was bloody good at solving things.”  
  
“So, you come by his flat and try to get him back into that line of work?” The good doctor looked a bit defensive for a moment.  
  
“Every so often I pop by.”  
  
“At the very least, once a month.” Some of the cases were interesting, but that was not what he did. He solved a few without even thinking about it, but he let Lestrade take care of them.  
  
“A bit bothersome, isn’t it?” John asked Sherlock, who ignored the question and went to retrieve another stack of paper.  
  
“Anyway, how did you two come to this?”  
  
“I met John at a restaurant where he had a horrid date and I deduced he needed a flatmate. We saw the flat and we moved in. Actually, I moved in and then when he squared away his bedsit, he arrived here yesterday. John is an Army Doctor who was invalided home from Afghanistan following being shot in the shoulder.”  
  
“Sherlock, I can introduce myself. I normally don’t lead with all that.”  
  
“He needs to be taught how to handle some human interaction.” Lestrade snickered.  
  
John agreed a bit, “It’ll help his business, I think.”  
  
“You should help me get him back to Scotland Yard.”  
  
“Back? You were there”  
  
“Lestrade, I think that it’s time to go home now.” Sherlock dropped the classifieds on the desk, letting some of them flutter to the floor.  
  
John and Lestrade exchanged glances before the DI finally took his leave. “I’ll see you around then, Sherlock.”  
  
“Yes, fine, give my brother a call.”  
  
“Bugger off.” The man left.  
  
John looked down to his feet. “I don’t have my bloody cane, do I?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Would you grab that for me?” He asked, taking a seat in the plaid arm chair.  
  
Sherlock frowned because he was hoping that it would last a bit longer, but he went to retrieve the cane.

***

Later that night, following curry takeaway for dinner, John was watching telly as Sherlock read through the missed connections on Craigslist.  
  
Sherlock could practically hear the other man thinking all the way on the settee. Ever since Lestrade’s visit, he knew John had been biting back his questions. He’d had questions before but the Detective Inspector’s visit stirred even more.  
  
“Why don’t you just ask?” Sherlock mumbled from behind his screen on the desk.  
  
“Are you talking to your computer or me?”  
  
“You, of course.”  
  
“Ask what?”  
  
“Don’t be daft, you know what.”  
  
“I do know but I don’t believe you’ll answer me.” John turned the volume on the TV down and turned his full attention to Sherlock.  
  
The matchmaker peered over his computer, “You honestly don’t know that.”  
  
“Fine. You used to be a detective?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then why did you help that DI?”  
  
“I consulted.”  
  
“Ah, that’s why you’re a Consulting Matchmaker. The title makes a bit more sense now. Why’d you stop?”  
  
“Because the time was right for me to stop.” He never spoke about why he stopped to anyone.  
  
“So, there’s no more crime then?” John wondered.  
  
“You know that to be incorrect, so why even say it? You’re being daft. Just say what you want to say.”  
  
“Ok, so why was it the right time? What happened?”  
  
“It just was the right time.” Sherlock felt that he’d given John enough information to pacify him for now, but surely in the future there was going to be more of a push about Sherlock’s past.  
  
“Fair enough.” John cleared his throat.  
  
“I’ve a meeting with a client tomorrow if you’re interested in sitting in. I know you think you can handle these people better than I do.”  
  
“Are you really sure you want me to butt into your business?”  
  
“I wouldn’t have suggested you join if I wanted you to stay away.”  
  
“Very well then, I’ll join. I’ve nothing on until work on Monday.” He smiled, sitting back into the sofa.  
  
Sherlock went back to his searching for a few minutes, then looked back up. “Can I set you up with someone? You’re lonely. I can fix that.”  
  
“Give me a week.”  
  
“Fine.” Sherlock nodded; he had a woman in mind for John.

***

 Sherlock wondered if it was strange that he and John got on so well. They had barely known each other two weeks before officially living under one roof, and he got on better with him than he did with nearly everyone he knew previously. Of course, there were small things that annoyed him but John on the whole was interesting and not boring. There were some things that he could have done without, but he lived with it.  
  
He invited John to join him for the meeting with the client, a Miss Molly Hooper. She had contacted Sherlock through email a week ago, but because of her work schedule she had to put off meeting him.  
  
John set up a chair between the two arm chairs in the living room. “What are you doing?”  
  
“I think it will make her feel more comfortable - us all sitting down here,” John said, putting a glass of water on the end table near his chair and pushing it closer to the kitchen chair.  
  
 _Fantastic, he’s just going to go right ahead and take control of this process isn’t he? I shouldn’t have said a thing._  
  
The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” John said and left, without his cane.  
  
Sherlock really needed to figure that out; he couldn’t find the exact trigger to John’s limp-free walk. He probably needed at least a week more to get to the bottom of it. It’s not as if John had a crazy schedule, so being able to keep track of his movements should not be too difficult.  
  
He took a seat in his black leather chair and steepled his hands under his chin in thought, _Why is John so interesting?_  
  
“I heard a lot about him from my friend. She said that I should at least meet with him, even if he’s a bit mean.” Molly sounded very timid.  
  
“He’s great, just rough around the edges so…” John trailed off as they entered the flat. “Sherlock’s right through here in the sitting room. Would you like any tea?”  
  
“No thank you, I’m fine.”  
  
 _Early thirties. Timid. Shy. One cat. Smells like the morgue. Pathologist. Lonely. Works odd hours. Hints of a fragrance. Young, Marc Jacobs Daisy?_  
  
“Uh, um, hi.” She practically squeaked after sitting down in a chair.  
  
 _Oh no. Attracted to me._  
  
“Molly Hooper, I’m Sherlock Holmes. Tell me what you’re looking for in a man.”  
  
“So, you just jump right in?” John said. He was making notes on a pad of paper.  
“Yes, this is how I do it. You do the small talk, if you want. I can do the big picture. Now, what are you looking for.”  
  
“Um, someone who likes being outdoors and animals. They have to be nice and charitable. The typical tall, dark, and handsome,” She blushed a deep red and John raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to date a doctor or someone who won’t be weirded out by my work in the morgue.”  
  
“John would be a good fit for you but he’s lacking the tall, dark, and handsome part.” Sherlock said, and it was true. He’d rather set John up with someone else for now though.  
  
“Oi, focus on Molly,” John glared at him.  
  
He went on to ask a few more standard questions about her background, to fill in some things that he couldn’t deduce ( _where she went to uni, where she grew up, what her family life had been, etc._ ) and also to make sure that she was not lying about anything that he deduced, which she wasn’t. Before he was even finished, he had fished out a potential match in his mind palace.  
  
“I need to see your flat,” Sherlock declared. “It gives me a better idea of you, as a person, that I may not get from an interview.”  
  
“Now?”  
  
“Yes.” Sherlock stood up. “You can go ahead of John and me, if you need to clean up any of your undergarments and whatever else people are ashamed of having about their flat. But please try not to change it too much.”  
  
“Ok.” She bit her lip.  
  
“We’ll be there a half hour after you,” he assured her after receiving her address.  
  
John walked her back to the door, with his cane this time.  
  
“That was fast.” John remarked when he joined Sherlock back in the living room. “Is it always like that?”  
  
“There are many times when I don’t bother going to the flat but I tend to want to, just to see if there is anything that I should know that I could not deduce from just speaking with her. But normally, yes, it doesn’t take me long to get to know a person.”  
  
“All right.” John nodded. “Do you have anyone in mind for Molly? Like yourself.”  
  
“Certainly not myself. I don’t fit into her type, with the exception of her physical desires. I do have someone in mind; his name is Tom and I believe that he would get on well with Molly. He fits the physical description. He’s a veterinarian, so that would be a decent fit for odd stories that could swap. That also means he likes animals. He has a dog that is friendly enough, hopefully it will get on with her cat.”  
  
“She has a cat?”  
  
“You missed the fur that was all over her jumper.”  
  
John shrugged, “I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”  
  
“Typical.” Sherlock sat back down in his seat.  
  
“Bugger off. We’re not all geniuses.” The other man tried to sound annoyed, but he was smiling. “So what happens after this?”  
  
“I will give Tom a short list of date ideas and Molly’s phone number.”  
  
“And then they’ll live happily ever after.”  
  
“You and your fairytales.” He scoffed at John’s idealism. “Love is about chemical reactions in the body and whether people’s personalities are compatible.  
  
“Sherlock, you’re bringing people together to fall in love. It’s baffling me that you feel this way. You’re telling me you’ve never been in love.”  
  
He frowned, “I never said that.”  
  
John just looked at him and Sherlock could see a few different emotions come across his face ( _confusion, sadness, sympathy)_ , “So, you were in love.”  
  
“I don’t want to speak about this.”  
  
The doctor nodded. “I understand, we don’t know each other enough.”  
  
“I don’t discuss my personal life even when I know others well. What happened has no bearing on our lives as flatmates.” Sherlock stood up. “I’m going to have a cigarette; I’ll meet you outside when you’re ready to leave for Molly’s.”  
  
Sherlock did just that.

***

John let Sherlock run off for a cigarette because he seemed like he needed one. Whatever happened, happened and John probably didn’t need to know about it. He just wanted Sherlock to know that he had a friend. A brand new friend, but a friend nonetheless.  
  
He gave Sherlock five minutes to himself before heading down.  
  
“So, is there anything you’d like to change about the matching process so far?” Sherlock asked after they got into the cab.  
  
“You’re not very warm with people. You’ve made people cry, so you probably went easy on Molly.”  
  
He shrugged.  
  
“Just don’t make anyone cry.”  
  
“I believe you greeting Molly relaxed her. You have a very calming demeanor. It’s most likely because you’re a doctor.”  
  
“If I’m available, I don’t mind sitting in with you for clients.” John did enjoy the process for some reason. Hearing about other people’s lives was always interesting. He was sure it was going to get even better when Sherlock gave the matches.  
  
“That would be adequate.”  
  
“Good, just tell me to bugger off if I get underfoot.”  
  
“I will, I won’t hesitate to do so.” Sherlock smiled.  
  
John asked Sherlock some more questions as they drove to Molly’s. For instance, how on earth did he pick Tom for Molly’s match. Apparently he had a mind palace and a mental database full of clients, of people he found through personal advertisements, categorised in particular ways to be easy to find. Honestly, John had no idea how Sherlock did all that and would need to be able to actually see inside of the bloke’s brain to fully understand. But no matter, he was brilliant.  
  
When they got to the flat, Molly was waiting with tea brewing. Her hair was down and she had lipstick on. Back on Baker Street her hair was up and she hadn’t been wearing any lipstick.  
  
“You’re wearing lipstick. You weren’t wearing lipstick before.” Were the first things out of Sherlock’s mouth as he swept into the flat.  
  
“I just refreshed a bit.”  
  
“Molly, there is no use in trying to impress me. I am far from your match. You’re just physically attracted to me. If you’ll give me a few moments, I’ll give your correct match.”  
  
John cringed at how Sherlock handled that so bluntly, with little tact, “So, um, he’s just going to have a look about quickly. Anything on for the rest of your day?”  
  
“No, I’m just going to watch some telly and write in my blog.”  
  
“You have a blog? That’s interesting.”  
  
“It’s rather boring.”  
  
“My therapist told me I should write one about my days. I didn’t because I’m sure my days are even more boring.” He chuckled.  
  
Molly smiled, “You’re a doctor, that’s exciting.”  
  
“I’m a boring old GP.”  
  
“John misses his life in the army.” Sherlock chimed in before going into, what John assumed was, Molly’s bedroom.  
  
“You were in the army.”  
  
“Just as a doctor.”  
  
“I’m sure it was more exciting than that.” She laughed.  
  
They chatted about Molly’s job at the morgue and how she used to hear about Sherlock coming in and harassing a pathologist there to get body parts and look into murder investigations or strange deaths. She had just missed Sherlock’s time there.  
  
“I think he stopped coming in when—”  
  
Sherlock interrupted as soon Molly was about to speculate why Sherlock had stopped his investigations, “You’re lonely. You’re in need of someone who can deal with your quirks. You can be very shy but I believe once someone gets to know you, you are not. You want someone who can share your love of animals and medicine. You like to have fun but you don’t like to go party at clubs. You prefer pubs.  
  
“I’m going to match you with Tom Kennedy. He will meet everything you’re looking for in a mate. I’ll contact him when I get home and forward you his contact information.  
  
“For a first date, I suggest you go on a picnic in the park and he can take his dog,” Sherlock rattled off.  
  
“That’s it?”  
  
“Yes.” Sherlock stood up straighter.  
  
“Oh, wow.” Molly sighed like she was relieved.  
  
“John, settle the payment.” Sherlock nodded before leaving Molly’s flat.  
  
“Um, ok, how much did he say it was?” John asked.  
  
“He never said.”  
  
John asked her what her friend paid and figured that it would be a good amount. He was going to have to talk with Sherlock about doing a flat rate and putting it up on the website.  
  
“Good luck with the date, I hope it goes well,” he said while shaking her hand.  
  
“I’m sure it will. He’s brilliant.”  
  
“Even though he’s an arse.” John chuckled.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
John left Molly’s and Sherlock was nowhere to be found so he took the tube back to Baker Street. He arrived home to an empty flat but received a text:

_Half of the fee is yours —SH_

He didn’t feel like he’d earned it but John could use all the help that he could get in the money department.

 _I couldn’t._   
  
_Yes, you could. Shut up. —SH_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to post anything this week but I ended up finishing a chapter in a bout of insomnia the other night so here's this. I won't be posting anything until next week because I'm having a little staycation with the best friend.
> 
> Next Chapter: John's Potential Match


	5. John's Potential Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [harpling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/harpling/pseuds/harpling) for beta'ing!

A little over a week into their flatshare, things were going pretty well in John’s eyes. Yes, there were small things Sherlock did that annoyed the ever-living hell out of him.  
  
For instance, he kept hazardous materials around and didn’t mark them. John didn’t care about the experiments; he just wished Sherlock would perform them with more safety. But the man was a complete nutter so he just dived into those things without a care in the world. It made him wonder how his criminal investigations had gone in the past.  
  
John really didn’t understand why Sherlock was doing experiments. It wasn’t as if he was a scientist or they helped with his career, but he really enjoyed it. Everyone needs a hobby, right?  
  
Two other things that drove John around the bend were Sherlock’s lack of eating and smoking like a chimney. He was pretty sure that the Matchmaker didn’t sleep either. He was just plain unhealthy. John really didn’t want to be after him like an old nag, but he wished his flatmate would take better care of himself.  
  
Oh! And the man knew everything John was going to do or think or say at any given point. There were a few times Sherlock didn’t even let him get through a sentence.  
  
The man was also tightly wound. He never had any fun. John wasn’t sure how Sherlock enjoyed himself. He needed to take him out to a pub one night and get him pissed. If he could even get him out. He normally puttered around the flat when he wasn’t out working or looking for matches for his clients.  
  
Ok, that was a lot of negative stuff, but John did like being around Sherlock and didn’t mind living with him. He was a genius, and John was always learning something new. Most of it was probably useless information for everyday life, but it was still interesting and brilliant.  
  
John couldn’t believe the small things that Sherlock didn’t know. All that stuff you learned back in primary school. Like how the earth revolved around the sun. John couldn’t get over that a grown man, as smart as Sherlock, didn’t know about the solar system. He said that he deleted things to make room for new information that was actually important.  
  
Sherlock never watched any telly. He hadn’t seen one episode of Doctor Who or any James Bond movies or read The Lord of The Rings trilogy. It was terrible, like he lived under a rock. No wonder the man couldn’t make any small talk. Sherlock seemed to think that those things didn’t matter, but John thought maybe if he watched or read those things he’d learn more about pop culture and understand his clients a bit more. But Sherlock refused it. Though he did start watching telly when John was in the living room.  
  
All in all though, it was easy for him to get on with Sherlock. It was probably because the other man knew when to leave him alone.  
  
They had clients nearly every day that week following Molly. John wasn’t able to make it to some of the consultations because of work at the surgery, but he did his best to join in when he could to provide something of a buffer between the client and Sherlock. He witnessed the Matchmaker make some poor woman cry over the fact that she was dating for the first time after a divorce but she still loved her ex.  
  
John set a flat fee for each consultation. If Sherlock just met with the client, it would be one price; if they had to travel to the client’s home, the price would be a bit higher for travel, depending on where they lived. He put that up on The Science of Romance website.  
  
Sherlock added John’s name to the website, saying he was in charge of customer service. The doctor was a little taken aback by this because they hadn’t discussed sharing business names or notoriety of any sort. John thanked him, but Sherlock brushed him off and went back to whatever it was he was doing with tartar sauce under the microscope.  
  
A week after setting Molly up, they were watching telly after having takeaway.  
  
 “I’d like to set you up,” Sherlock announced as the credits rolled on an episode of 8 Out of 10 Cats. “It’s been a week; you’ve settled here.”  
  
“Are you trying to boot me out the flat already?” John laughed.  
  
“No, you wouldn’t move in with her for at least six months. I’m not even sure you’d spend the night with her for some time because you dislike people knowing about the nightmares that wake you up screaming.” Sherlock stood up from the sofa and made his way to his desk.  
  
“You hear me.” John clenched his fist.  
  
“I don’t sleep much, you know I hear you. It doesn’t matter. We both know that you suffer from PTSD.”  
  
“Right, ok, so what, who is it that you want to set me up with?”  
  
“Her name is Sarah. She is also a GP. You share that with her, which I believe to be a very good thing. She likes sport, so when you get rid of that limp for good and start with rugby again then she wouldn’t mind going to game. And she’d join you watching football. She’s adventurous as well but enjoys being a homebody too.”  
  
“Ok. What do you suggest we do?”  
  
“There’s a circus. A travelling Chinese Circus, in fact, in town this weekend. I already purchased tickets for you both because it’s a bit out the ordinary. Afterward, you could grab dinner at a Thai restaurant down the street from where the event is being held. It’s trendy and she’ll think you’re trying to impress her, which she’ll like.”  
  
“She likes being impressed?”  
  
“She likes that you’re trying to make the effort to impress her.” Sherlock corrected him. “Sarah isn’t someone who cares about material things, much like yourself. She couldn’t care less about status. She will just like you putting it on that you’re trying to impress her. The only thing is, you’ll have to do that from time to time. But you have a romantic side, so it wouldn’t be too much of a problem with you.”  
  
John nodded. “As long as it goes better than my last date, that’s all I can ask for.” He had little doubt that the match was going to be perfect. Sherlock was amazing with his abilities. John just hoped that he was really ready to date.

***

Thursday, the day before John’s date with his potential soul mate, Molly showed up at the flat unexpectedly with a brown paper bag and a bottle of whiskey.  
  
“Hello, Molly. Is everything alright?”  
  
“Brilliant! I was hoping that Sherlock was in as well.”  
  
“He is, come on inside.” John let her into the flat. “How are things?”  
  
“Amazing!” She was basically skipping up the stairs as he limped up.  
  
How the bloody hell was he always the one answering doors when he had a limp and a cane and Sherlock had those long bloody legs?  
  
“Molly, what are you doing here?” Sherlock was in his dressing gown moping about because he couldn’t find any interesting people to match. “You’re happy. You’re not looking to date.”  
  
“I came here to thank you.” She thrust the paper bag at Sherlock and the whiskey at John.  
  
Sherlock took his offering with a skeptical look on his face. John took the whiskey with a smile.  
  
“You didn’t have to, Molly,” John said as Sherlock opened the bag.  
  
“Two livers!”  
  
“Duck?”  
  
“No, John, human.” He rolled his eyes. Most people would be sarcastic with that comment, but Sherlock was not at all.  
  
“Great, you’re feeding his strange addiction. I should really worry that I’m actually living with Hannibal.”  
  
“Who?” Obviously, he didn’t get the reference.  
  
“Never mind. But thank you again, Molly.”  
  
“It’s nothing. I’m just so — elated. I’m not one to fall in love fast but with Tom, we just clicked.”  
  
“A real thank you would be an offer to come back to the morgue.”  
  
“Sherlock,” John scolded. “He’s happy with the livers. Don’t worry about the morgue; I don’t want you to lose a job over him. It’s bad enough you’re filching livers.”  
  
Sherlock pouted as he stood up and moved past them to the kitchen.  
  
“I’d love to see him work, but I understand. I need to get going because I’m on my way to meet up with Tom at Regent’s Park.”  
  
“Let me walk you out.”  
  
“Don’t be silly, I can see myself out.”  
  
“I hope we don’t hear from you. I mean that in the best way.”  
  
“If we get married, you’re the… third and fourth people on the list to call.” She blushed, probably thinking it was too early for that.  
  
“Mother, sister, me, and you,” Sherlock explained from the kitchen.  
  
John saw her out then joined Sherlock in the kitchen. “Do you normally hear from other clients about their weddings?”  
  
The taller man just shrugged.  
  
“If my date with Sarah is as good as Molly and Tom’s first week together then you’ll be my best man.”  
  
Sherlock scoffed, “I already refuse.”  
  
“I’m sure you’ll come around.” He checked the time. “I’m off to work. Would you like me to grab dinner on the way home?”  
  
“Yes, that Indonesia place by your surgery. I’ll call ahead,” he said before going towards his room, probably in search of something for the livers sitting on the table.  
  
A week ago, John wouldn’t have believed he’d ever think of a sentence like that. But he was oddly happy that he could now. Sherlock was something else.

***

John finally made it out of the flat for his date with Sarah.  
  
Sherlock had made him change twice because he was unhappy with John’s fashion taste. He actually let the matchmaker pick out his final outfit (his best dark jeans, light blue button up, and his best jacket). Sherlock wasn’t completely happy with it, probably because it wasn’t bespoke. The man only wore designer suits that were tailored to fit every sodding curve of his body. John didn’t want to dress like that and he certainly did not have the money to do so. He was happy in his cardigans, jumpers, and jeans.  
  
Anyway, John was eventually pushed out the door, in his average looking clothes, because he needed to leave or he would be late to meet Sarah.  
  
He was looking forward to getting out of the flat for something that wasn’t a call to a client’s house, work, grabbing a quick dinner with Sherlock, or going to the shops. He really needed some social life; he was going to have to call Mike soon enough. If he didn’t have a damn bloody limp, then he could join a rugby club to meet some blokes to go to the pub with.  
  
Of course he was happy to see Sarah. Sherlock didn’t disappoint him in the looks department. Hopefully the brains and everything else followed suit.  
  
“So, travelling circus?” Sarah asked as they walked towards the building, following the crowds.  
  
“My flatmate told me about it, said it was different.” He didn’t want to tell her that Sherlock picked the date because that seemed tacky.  
  
“So, Sherlock.”  
  
Shite. “Yep.” He tried to laugh it off.  
  
“Hey, no need to be ashamed of the Matchmaker fixing up the date.” She smiled. “Is he as good as I hear?”  
  
“You know I work with him?”  
  
She nodded, “Yes, he mentioned it.”  
  
“He’s bloody brilliant. A madman, but bloody brilliant. I don’t know what he’s doing in this business to be honest. Not that he isn’t good at it.”  
  
“Making people happy.”  
  
“No, I think it’s to spite his brother.”  
  
“Honestly?” Sarah made a face as the entered.  
  
John just chuckled and gave her a nod.  
  
The whole night went really well. They chatted while waiting for the show. The show itself was intriguing and much different from what John expected from a circus.  
  
After, they went to the Thai restaurant that Sherlock suggested. Sarah was impressed and told John that he didn’t have to try so hard. There were no awkward silences over dinner. They talked about work and her family. John slyly avoided the topic of his former toxic relationship with his parents and sister. It wasn’t something normal people talked about on their first date. He didn’t want to be a twisted version of whatever her name was with the cat Mike had set him up with.  
  
She insisted on taking the tube home, so John rode with her, even though it was out of his way; he was a gentleman. He walked her up to the building of her flat, and they had a good night kiss.  
  
“We’ll do this again sometime.” She grinned.  
  
“Of course, I’ll give you call.”  
  
Sarah smiled widely before agreeing and saying goodnight.  
  
John wasn’t sure if Sarah was his ideal match, but he was certainly looking forward to getting to know her better.  
  
“Very good, your date went well,” Sherlock said as John entered the living room. Sherlock was holding his violin, but not his bow.  
  
“Yes, fantastic, actually. We got on really well.”  
  
“Obviously.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Call her tomorrow. Don’t follow that stupid rule about waiting three days.”  
  
“No date suggestions?” John joked because he knew that he could handle the rest from here.  
  
“Not unless you pay me.” He plucked at his violin.  
  
“I was having you on.”  
  
“Of course. Now, leave me alone, I was thinking.”  
  
John snickered before doing as his flatmate asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: The Not So Lonely Banker


	6. The Not So Lonely Banker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [harpling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/harpling/pseuds/harpling) for beta'ing!

Sherlock did not hate John, even over a month into their co-habitation.  
  
Normally it took just a few minutes for Sherlock to be done with someone. There were very, very few people who could hold Sherlock’s attention for more than a week. Everyone was so sodding boring. John should have been boring but he wasn’t. Sherlock wasn’t sure why; it was possibly because of his limp that came and went. Other than that, what could possibly be so interesting in John Watson that Sherlock couldn’t find in millions of others?  
  
There had been fifteen times John had gone without his cane and had not realised it and another five times when he had realised it. Sherlock was doing a study on it so he was certainly not going to tell John about his very interesting habit. That would potentially ruin it. He could not put his finger on what triggered John to forget about his cane. It seemed there was no rhyme or reason to it, but Sherlock knew there is a reason to everything.  
  
One time John, had gone to the shops for milk and tea, made dinner, and read an article in a medical journal before realizing he didn’t have his cane next to him. Sherlock told him that he had only walked from the kitchen to the chair without it before retrieving his cane from near the kitchen door.  
  
He found John’s nightmares intriguing as well. What PTSD did to the brain was probably terrifying for the person it affected, but for Sherlock the science behind it fascinating. Still, Sherlock felt something else, other than intrigue, when he would stood in John’s doorway during a nightmare.  
  
He didn’t like whatever it was twisting in his chest, so he ignored it. It reminded him too much of Victor and his past. He had vowed, never to go there again after what happened. Hopefully it was just friendship. Not that he even wanted that kind of relationship. Maybe it was just sympathy. There was just too much entanglement.  
  
Sherlock did enjoy having John as a colleague though. Since joining in the business, John had attracted even more clientele. The reviews they were receiving were all positive. The army doctor acted as a buffer so that Sherlock did not have to deal with the tedious things like being nice, collecting the money, and making appointments.  
  
In mid-November, Sherlock received an email from a former acquaintance in university,  
  
 _Sherlock Holmes,_  
 _How are you, old friend? I’ve heard good things about your matchmaking service and wanted you to put them to some good use for me. I’m looking for a new wife because the last bird was no good. I’m in the office tomorrow and virtually free until noon. I will see you as soon as possible._  
 _— Sebastian Wilkes_  
  
Sherlock despised Sebastian and had assumed he would never have to deal with him again. He was one of those people who believed that they know everything and can get away with anything.  
  
“Morning,” John greeted Sherlock as he padded into the kitchen with a yawn, sans cane. He’d had a decent night’s sleep, but Sherlock knew from previous non-cane days that that wasn’t wasn’t always the case.  
  
“John, we’re going to Shad Sanderson Bank. We’ve a client who would like to see us today, and I know you’re off from the surgery. Be ready by nine.”  
  
“We’re going there? To them? Why isn’t this one coming to us, like normal?”  
  
“I’d rather not have this one in my flat.”  
  
“Don’t like city boys much? I don’t either.”  
  
“I don’t like most people.”  
  
“But you let others into our home. And then you told me every single reason why you disliked almost all of them. What’s wrong with this bloke?”  
  
“He’s an old… acquaintance.”  
  
“Ex-boyfriend?”  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
John was always trying to nose around in Sherlock’s personal past. It probably had something to do with the fact that Sherlock knew nearly everything about John, but John was too much of an idiot to deduce information about Sherlock.  
  
“Rival in school?”  
  
“As if I had any competition.”  
  
“Steal your girl?”  
  
Sherlock couldn’t roll his eyes any further without physically hurting himself.  
  
“Just tell me what the problem is,” John complained while he went on to make his toast and coffee, like he did every morning.  
  
“As you would probably say it, he was a twat.”  
  
John chuckled, as he normally did when Sherlock swore aloud. “Why?”  
  
“He just was. I’m sure he hasn’t changed much; you’ll understand when you meet him.”  
  
“If you hate him so much, then why are we going there?”  
  
“Because he’s probably going to pay us an exorbitant amount to search for a new wife.”  
  
“He won’t — we have flat rates on the site.”  
  
“Sebastian throws money around just to show that he has it. He has even more now, I imagine.”  
  
“Ugh, Sebastian does sound like a twat’s name,” John groaned. “Not that Sherlock doesn’t make you sound like a toff, but you actually are so I guess that point’s proven as well.”  
  
Sherlock ignored the comment and shut his laptop. “I’m going to shower.”  
  
“Did you eat breakfast?”  
  
“Yes.” He’d had a biscuit; that had to count somewhere in John’s book.  
  
“Not just one of Mrs H’s biscuits, I hope.”  
  
Maybe John was a bit more perceptive than he gave him credit for some of the time.  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
“And there are no dishes…”  
  
“Because I did them.”  
  
John threw his head back with a loud laugh, “Sod off! I’ve lived here, over a month with you. I do the dishes and go to the shops and clean. You can’t be arsed with that stuff.”  
  
“How do you think I lived before you came along?”  
  
“Not well.”  
  
Sherlock groaned.  
  
“Look, I don’t want you collapsing on me.”  
  
“I’ll eat later, after we’re done with the client.” Eating tended to slow things down when he was working.  
  
“Your brain needs calories to process information,” John called after him as he went to his room.  
  
“I had a very large dinner last night.” And he had eaten leftovers at one in the morning. He didn’t keep normal hours and schedules like John did. One day the man was going to understand that.  
  
“Sherlock! Can you get my bloody cane?”  
  
Damn, he’d been hoping they could have made it through the entire day with out it.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
He went off to John’s room instead of his own.

***

Sherlock felt as if he needed to physically close John’s mouth as it hung open when they entered the building where Sebastian’s offices were held. John had problems with wealth; he didn’t know how to deal with money or people who showed off their money.  
  
“Please lift your jaw from the floor.” He tapped under John’s chin. “You look ridiculous. This is just a building that houses terrible people.”  
  
“My jaw is not on the floor,” he protested as they walked towards the reception desk. “I’m admiring the architecture.”  
  
“You’re thinking about money.”  
  
“Bugger off, you git,” John said, and the lady behind the desk looked offended. That pleased Sherlock.  
  
“We’re here to see Sebastian Wilkes,” Sherlock informed the woman with the bluetooth. They were given guest passes and directed to Sebastian’s floor.  
  
“So, who is this bloke, really?” John asked again as they rode up in the glass elevator alone.  
  
“Honestly John, he is just someone whom I disliked in university. I’m sure you have many people you’ve disliked in the past.” He was getting exasperated with John’s personal questions. He would never understand why people needed to know these things.  
  
“I don’t believe you.” John leaned on his cane.  
  
“You never do. If you could just deduce things, then it wouldn’t trouble you.” Sherlock just wished that everyone else would just learn how to observe.  
  
“If you’d talk about your life, like a normal person does with their friends, then it wouldn’t trouble me.”  
  
“That’s just boring John.”  
  
“I’m sorry I have such a tiny little mind.”  
  
“Remember: you’re the one who said it.”  
  
“Actually, I was quoting you from when we were having a row the other day. I was being sarcastic.”  
  
Sherlock crossed his arms, “I was correct, wasn’t I?”  
  
“You’re a prick,” John said simply as the doors slid open.  
  
Sherlock just grinned at John before sweeping out the doors and into Sebastian’s office reception. The blonde behind the desk in front of Sebastian’s office smiled. It was a forced smile; she wasn’t happy that Sherlock was here. Hmm...  
  
“He’s expecting you. You can go right in Mr Holmes and...”  
  
“Doctor Watson,” Sherlock gestured back to John, who was gawking at the fancy glass state of the art office.  
  
“Sherlock Holmes, it’s been so long.” Sebastian looked just as smarmy as he had in the past. If not more.  
  
Sherlock was silently thankful it’d been so long. “Yes, it has.” They both took their seats as John finally joined them.  
  
“And who is this?”  
  
“My friend.”  
  
“Colleague,” John corrected. Apparently John wanted to be his friend, but not with clients around.  
  
Sherlock wanted to show Sebastian that he was capable of having friends, unlike back at university. Not that it made sense then, with Victor around. He and Victor were very good friends. Well, when he says friends...  
  
“Right,” Sebastian made some comments about their days at university and how Sherlock was a bit of a freak.  John didn’t like him speaking ill about Sherlock, at least that’s what the look on his face said. John was very loyal, very fast.  
  
When they were finally able to move on to the subject at hand, Sherlock spoke first, “I’m not sure why we’re here.” Sherlock had to head off Sebastian’s tedious tale of how he was looking for a new wife and how terrible his divorce went but it was now time for him to move on and find his true love and all that other nonsense.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“You’re shagging your receptionist.”  
  
“How—”  
  
“I’m not wasting my time with how I knew. I’m letting you know that I know. I’m not sure why you’re ashamed of it. She’s a good looking woman - even John found her attractive. She’s very interested in you, and I don’t think it’s just because of the power aspect. I’d deduce both of you, but I have no interest in seeing if you’re an actual match. Even if I find you a match, you’ll break it off.  There’s no point in me wasting my skills as you’ll  continue shagging around.”  
  
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”  
  
Sherlock huffed,  already over the conversation. He had no idea why he’d even decided to take the job in the first place. He’d made an error. “I suggest just dating your receptionist. She fancies you quite a bit. Come along,” Sherlock said before darting out.  
  
John lagged behind because of his leg, but Sherlock waited for him down on the street. John didn’t look very happy with Sherlock but stayed quiet during the cab ride.

***

When they returned from Sebastian’s office, Sherlock was delighted to find that Molly had been by with the fingernails that she promised him.  
  
“Fingernails... I don’t even think I’m going to ask this time,” John sighed, exasperated with Sherlock’s strange experiments. Well, to John they were strange. To Sherlock they were necessary to keeping his brain going.  
  
“Please don’t, because I’d rather not have to explain,” Sherlock said while looking for his slides.  
  
“So back there, that wasn’t very good. You know he’s probably going to bad mouth you around town.”  
  
“I don’t really care.” Sherlock shrugged.  
  
“He offered us a nice sum.”  
  
“That’s what kept you behind, of course it was. You should have taken it and come up with a match yourself. He can obviously spare the money.”  
  
“Can you spare the money?” John questioned. “I know that you have a rich background, but you’re pretty much supporting yourself. You wouldn’t need a flatmate if you were getting money from a trust fund.”  
  
“I’m fine without his money, and you are as well. You would have just been a bit more comfortable.” He finally located his slides in the vegetable drawer of the refrigerator.  
  
“Do you care, truly, if people cheat or not stay with the match you make? Because I thought love was all about chemical reactions in the body and compatibility. You didn’t really care about the other stuff.”  
  
Sherlock shrugged. He didn’t feel like saying that he wanted people who were actually interested in a match because John would take it the wrong way. He just wanted to be taken seriously.  
  
“You care. I know you care.”  
  
“I do not. Will you leave me alone? I have things to do.”  
  
“With fingernails.”  
  
“It’s more interesting than this conversation. Anything would be more interesting than this conversation.”  
  
“Hello, dear brother.”  
  
Sherlock snapped around to see Mycroft in the doorway with a sly grin on his face.  
  
He’d obviously spoken too soon. He would rather have a conversation with John about love than anything to do with Mycroft.  
  
“You must be the infamous Doctor Watson.”  
  
“What are you doing here, Mycroft?”  
  
“You’re the brother he wants to spite,” John remarked, going to shake Mycroft’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”  
  
“It is not nice to meet him.”  
  
“He believes he’s spiting me by doing this job. I don’t really care what he does. As long as he’s safe.”  
  
“I’m remarkably safe doing my current job. Nothing ever happens.” He hated that nothing ever happened, but at the same time it was what he wanted.  
  
“The most danger I’ve seen you in so far was when that bloke almost punched you for deducing that he was infertile.” John laughed. “Tea, Mycroft?”  
  
“He won’t be staying long enough. Why are you here, other than to annoy me?”  
  
“There’s a case—”  
  
“Not interested.”  
  
John raised an eyebrow, “You try to recruit him for cases as well?”  
  
“Sherlock was — is — a very good investigator.”  
  
“He doesn’t want to do it; maybe you lot should leave him alone about that.” Sherlock wasn’t sure why John felt such a need to stand up for him.  
  
“He doesn’t know about your past, Sherlock?”  
  
“It’s his choice to tell me.”  
  
Mycroft looked between the two men. Sherlock knew the look well - he was deducing something and the smirk at the end let Sherlock know that he wouldn’t be happy with the result.  
  
“Very well then. I’ll listen to the good doctor and not ask you anymore to take a look at cases.”  
  
“You employ people to work for you, as does Scotland Yard. They should be able to figure it out,” John said, putting the kettle on.  
  
Sherlock needed to get Mycroft out before he actually stayed for tea.  
  
“According to my brother, they’re all idiots.”  
  
“They are,” Sherlock sniped.  
  
Mycroft pressed his lips together in a tight line, “That’s why you should be working with us.”  
  
“I do not want to. I told you: I’m done. I have been for some time.”  
  
“Very well, then. I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your day. I’m sorry I interrupted the domesticity,” Mycroft left before Sherlock could form a proper come back.  
  
“You know, you can’t avoid telling me about your past forever,” John commented as he took down the mugs.  
  
“I think I may.”  
  
“The suspense is killing me. I don’t know why you can’t just tell me. Did you kill someone? I can’t find anything about you online other than your website. Your brother probably took care of that.”  
  
Sherlock shook his head, “Technically no I didn’t kill anyone and yes, Mycroft took good care to keep my name out of the papers.”  
  
“You blame yourself for someone’s death?”  
  
He shrugged, letting John draw his own conclusions. He was going to have to tell John the truth. Not today, though.

***

A few days later, “I’m off.”  
  
John was dressed to go on a date. Not his best date clothes, though: he was barely trying anymore. If Sherlock were Sarah, he would have broken up with him ages ago. Sherlock had no doubt that the two doctors were going to be splitting up soon.  
  
They had been seeing each other for about a month, but John had never spent the night. Things were progressing slowly, too slowly. It seemed as if they didn’t match, but that was ludicrous.  Sherlock had set them up, and  Sherlock was positive that they would have been a perfect fit. He knew it would move slowly but it was practically glacial at this point.  
  
John didn’t even seem excited to be going on a date. He never really talked about Sarah either - not that John did too much talking about his personal life - but Sherlock was sure that there should have been some chatting if there had been actual interest.  
  
“Yes, I can see that.”  
  
“Don’t blow anything up while I’m out.”  
  
“Does it look like I’m doing an experiment?” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. He was sat at his desk, reading through emails. None of the potential clients sounded interesting. It was in these moments that Sherlock considered getting back into being a consulting detective.  
  
“No. I have no idea what your plan is for later on.”  
  
Sherlock bit his tongue about how John probably wasn’t going to be gone for more than a few hours because he wanted to get the man out of the flat. Sometimes he needed to be alone to think, and this night was one of those times.  
  
“Right then, I’ll see you later.” John clearly wasn’t even hopeful for a shag.  
  
Maybe it was too soon for John to begin dating. He was going to have to give it time before setting him up again. He didn’t want John to think he wasn’t good at what he did; he was the best in the world. It was clearly John’s fault.  
  
“Don’t go to Vino.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“They’re going to fail a health and safety inspection.”  
  
“How do you know that?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged.  
  
“Ok, see you later.”  
  
He just ignored John until he finally left.  
  
When he did leave, Sherlock closed his laptop and went for his violin. For some reason, he found it too quiet when John wasn’t around and needed something to fill the space. Which was strange because there had been many years that he spent alone and it wasn’t so quiet. It didn’t make sense.  
  
Maybe it was because the flat was larger. There weren’t any other plausible reasons for it.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Bah Humbug and All That


	7. Bah Humbug and All That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to [harpling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/harpling/pseuds/harpling) for being an awesome beta.

John took a deep breath, letting the cold air sting his lungs; he hated the bloody cold. He was starting to miss the desert even more.  
  
He and Sarah had just broken up. Not exactly what he wanted to do the week before Christmas, but it did save him having to buy her a gift. That was probably a horrible thing to think, but it was true. He had been putting off buying her a gift: he’d no idea what to get her, and he knew they were headed for a breakup.  
  
They’d mutually decided not to see one another anymore as it just wasn’t working. They hadn’t spent a lot of time together, no matter how hard they tried. It was as if every time she was free, John was working or helping Sherlock with his matchmaking business. He probably should have put her as a top priority but work and The Science of Romance ended up taking first place all of the time.  
  
It wasn’t  that he didn’t like Sarah or wasn’t attracted to her - she was great and beautiful. There was just something missing for John, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe he’d never fall in love, or maybe he was waiting to feel the wrong thing. People say you just know when you meet The One, but he wasn’t sure if he would know.  
  
    John felt a bit bad about the break-up. He didn’t want to make Sherlock feel like he hadn’t done a good job, not that he needed any help with his ego. He knew Sherlock liked having a high accuracy rating, so he didn’t want to bring him down. Maybe it was a bad idea letting his friend/flatmate/colleague set him up, no matter how good he was.  
  
“You broke up with Sarah,” Sherlock stated as soon as he walked into the flat, barely looking up from where he was lounging about on the settee.  
  
“Yes.” He sometimes hated that Sherlock could read all about his day just from the state of his shoes or the wrinkles on his jumper.  
  
“You weren’t as compatible as I thought. I’ll find someone else.”  
  
“Um, not just now, thanks.” John hung up his coat. “Give me a bit, yeah?”  
  
“Just let me know when. I’ll be on the look out for a better match.”  
  
“So, what do you have on for tonight?”  
  
“Nothing. Bored.”  
  
“I was thinking about going to the pub, would you want to join?” John hadn’t seen Sherlock let loose once in the three months of knowing him. He was completely straight laced; the worst thing that he did was smoke. Which was a terrible habit, but it wasn’t exactly much fun.  
  
“No, I was thinking about hand-to-hand combat.”  
  
John cocked an eyebrow. Where had that thought suddenly come from?Then again, why did Sherlock think about most of the topics that floated around in that great big brain of his?  
  
“You’re trained in it?”  
  
“I have some training. Even doctors have to be able to defend themselves in the Army.”  
  
“Show me.” Sherlock jumped up from the sofa and shucked off his dressing gown so he was in his blue PJ bottoms and white cotton top.  
  
“No,” he laughed.  
  
“Can you flip me over your shoulder from a choke-hold position?”  
  
“Sherlock, I don’t want to hurt you. Plus, my leg. Did you forget about that?”  
  
“No but you should forget your leg, I know you can do it.”  
  
His leg really wasn’t aching, which was weird, seeing as he’d walked quite a bit today. The damn thing had a mind of its own, he swore. He couldn’t count the times he’d been just walking around the flat and realised that he didn’t have his cane with him.  
  
“You can do it.” Sherlock grinned before moving as quick as a cat behind John, locking his arm around his neck.  
  
“Sherlock, come on now.” He dropped his cane to the floor with a clatter.  
  
“I won’t let go until you disengage me.”  
  
“Why do you even care?”  
  
“Because I’m curious about your skills.”  
  
“I can’t hardly—”  
  
Sherlock’s arm tightened around his throat and - entirely on instinct - John grabbed him by the elbow and forearm. John thrust his hips back, twisted, and Sherlock was on his back on the floor, blinking up at John with wide eyes.  John decided he rather liked how Sherlock looked when he was taken by surprise. It didn’t happen nearly often enough. The doctor made a mental note to do that more often.  
  
For now, he just smirked down at Sherlock before going to move away. As he stepped back, Sherlock swept his legs from under him and he was splayed out on the floor, the wind knocked out of him.   
  
“Dirty,” he wheezed.  
  
Sherlock sprang up and straddled John’s hips, pinning his arms above his head. “As if in a war zone they’d fight clean?”  
  
Although Sherlock was all limbs, John was still stronger and better trained. His left shoulder was shite, but he was still strong everywhere else.   
  
He pushed up and flung Sherlock to the side, rolling on top of him. John grabbed his cane in the move and held it across Sherlock’s throat.  
  
“You lose,” he said, his chest heaving. He really needed to get back to working out. Since the limp was disappearing so often, he figured that maybe he’d be able to get back to all that very soon.  
  
“Let’s do it again. We can make a game out of it. I’ll go hide down the street—”  
  
“No,” John laughed, standing up as quickly as possible when he realised suddenly that he was getting hard.  He nearly overbalanced and fell back down from moving so fast.  
  
John hadn’t been touched in months and his body was betraying him. He was praying that Sherlock hadn’t noticed. The man was attractive, but they were flatmates. They couldn’t shag. John must be mad for even considering it.  
  
“You’re boring.” If Sherlock had noticed anything, he wasn’t giving anything away.  
  
“No, I don’t want to  get one of us hurt or both of us arrested for causing a disturbance.” He headed to the kitchen to make some tea.  
  
“I thought you were going out to the pub. You normally see Mike every few weeks to get a drink and chat.” Sherlock said, following right behind him.  
  
“No, he’s busy tonight. I was only going to go if you wanted to join. It’s bloody cold out anyway, so I’m just going to stay in.”  
  
Sherlock nodded, “Are you making me tea as well?”  
  
“Would you like some?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“All right.” John flicked the kettle on and contemplated his evening. He knew that he didn’t love Sarah: he preferred being in for the night with Sherlock at the flat than out with her. That was troubling.  
  
“Let’s watch a film.”  
  
Sherlock made a face.  
  
“James Bond. You’ll love to hate it, just like you love to hate every other thing I watch on the telly. Deep down, I think you actually enjoy the stuff I watch.”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
  
“Did your mum ever tell you that your eyes would get stuck like that if you rolled them too much?”  
  
“No, but she told me that it made me look stupid.”  
  
John laughed, “It does.”  
  
“I’m not stupid, so it doesn’t matter if I look stupid. It confuses people, makes them underestimate me so I can take them by surprise.”  
  
“You cut them down to size when they think you’re stupid.” He had seen Sherlock destroy people with his words. It was generally not good to scare clients away, but Sherlock took a lot of pride in his work and some of these people seemed to think he was an idiot simply for being a matchmaker. He was anything but.  
  
“Fine, I’ll join you. I have nothing better to do with my time tonight.”  
  
With their tea, they settled on the sofa. John picked You Only Live Twice. It was one of the better ones, which might possibly mean less complaining from Sherlock.  
  
At least, he’d thought it would mean less complaining. Naturally, Sherlock did was pick apart the movie. Eventually, Sherlock’s snarky commentary petered out during the last ten minutes of the movie. John turned to him to make a smartarse comment. Sherlock was out cold, curled up on his side of the sofa. His arms were wrapped around himself, and his mouth was hanging open. Those long toes were centimeters away from John’s thigh.  
  
He had never seen Sherlock sleep; in fact, John wondered most days if he ever did. For all he knew, Sherlock was some type of vampire that didn’t need food or sleep and lived off of knowledge and matchmaking. Sherlock hated doing what helped him to, you know, live.  
  
John went back to watching the movie and melted into the sofa as the credits rolled. It had been a long week. They’d had client after client and, when he wasn’t helping Sherlock, he was working. Plus, breaking up with someone was always exhausting, even if it was mutual.  
  
He felt himself drift off to sleep. It was only going to be for a few minutes, but when he opened his eyes again it was starting to become light out. When John tried to get off the sofa, he fell on his face, not realising that his legs had ended tangled up with Sherlock. The matchmaker stirred and groaned, glaring at John.  
  
“Sorry,” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”  
  
Sherlock just stretched out completely on the sofa, burying his face into the cushions.  
  
John pushed himself up and made his way up to his room to sleep for a few more hours.  
  
Neither spoke about the whole falling asleep together situation the next day, which was fine. That’d be quite an awkward conversation.  

***

  A week later, on Christmas Eve morning, John was having breakfast while reading the paper. He always ended up poring over the ruddy personal ads. How had his life become that?  
  
“Bloody hell.”   
  
John looked up to see Sherlock frowning while gazing out the window.   
  
When Sherlock swore, it normally wasn’t good. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Mycroft. I knew he was going to drag me out to see my parents.”  
  
“For Christmas?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You don’t want to go?”  
  
“It’s so tedious.”  
  
“It’s your family. You should see your parents.”  
  
Sherlock frowned, “Come with me.”  
  
John chuckled, “I can’t: it’s your family. I don’t want to intrude - I can’t just drop in.” They were friends, but were they the sort of really good friends who went to each other’s family homes? Was that even done at their age?  
  
“You’ll be depressed being alone tonight and tomorrow. Your sister is with a new girlfriend, though that will probably end as terribly as it always is, and you just broke up with Sarah. It’s known that suicide rates jump over the holidays, and I would really hate to come back to Baker Street to find that you’d put your sidearm to use. You can be a buffer between myself and my parents, just like you do with my clients. My mother makes enough food for fifteen people, and it’s usually just four of us at dinner.”  
  
“I assume that you aren’t packed, yet.” Mycroft sighed as he entered the flat.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Please get a move on, Sherlock. Mummy and Father are waiting on you, as always.”  
  
“John’s joining. Will that be a problem?”  
  
“No, please come along.” Mycroft smiled like he knew something that John didn’t. That was always terrifying.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
They both answered with echoing yeses.  
  
Something about the look in their eyes said to not argue anymore with them, so John went off to his room to pack.   
  
He didn’t know what to expect from the Holmes parents. Mycroft was frightening, but John took him with a grain of salt. Having been in the army, he knew what frightening really was. Still, when Mycroft was around the flat, John always felt himself standing a little taller and had to remind himself to stay at ease. It was probably because he carried himself with an air of importance. Sherlock did too, but it seemed to have stuck in John’s brain that the elder Holmes was ’The British Government’, according to Sherlock. If Mycroft and Sherlock were both posh twats, then what were the parents like? Christ, he was really in for it.   
  
There was no possible way it would have been worse than Christmases with his family in the past. Sherlock and Mycroft didn’t seem the type to insist on John joining something completely dysfunctional. Especially with the Consulting Matchmaker being so private. Maybe they were just normal people who happened to have strangely smart and strangely strange sons.  
  
“Did you know that bisexual men are more likely to smoke? I thought that might be a nice little fact for your matchmaking databank., It could help with some deductions.” John heard Mycroft remarkr as he made his way down the stairs.  
  
“That was such a small group the study sampled, too much margin for error. Also, John does not smoke and I do.”  
  
John wondered what that meant. Did that mean Sherlock was gay or straight? He hadn’t been able to work that out yet, and Sherlock refused to give anything away.  
  
“Good, John’s ready. Let’s go get this over with, shall we?”  
  
John nodded, assuring himself in his head that it was going to be better than spending the holiday with that bottle of whiskey Molly had given him months ago.

  ***  

The drive out to Surrey was spent by Sherlock filling John in on his parents. His father was named Siger and his mother, Violet. His dad had been in SIS (clearly Mycroft had followed that path), and his mum was a mathematician. Sherlock said they were terribly normal, which was strange to John, seeing as neither of their sons were anything but. Also, how the bloody hell were an SIS agent and mathematician normal?  
  
They finally arrived at the Holmes’ house. It was a quaint home, something that John had not expected.   
  
“They insist on living here. We have an estate, from Father’s side, in Kent but Mummy wants nothing to do with it. It’s practically a museum,” Mycroft explained as they got out of the car. “They do have tours, actually, if you’re ever interested.”  
  
“Much like Mycroft’s flat. John, it’s a horrid place. Never go.”  
  
John just laughed as an older woman came bustling through the door and calling to the three of them standing grabbing bags out of the boot.  
  
“Oh, darlings, I’ve missed you.” She enveloped them, one at a time, in a bone crushing hug before turning to John. “Doctor Watson, it’s lovely to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”  
  
“You have?” He looked over at Sherlock, who was kicking at the pebbles beneath his feet.  
  
“Mycroft likes to keep an eye on his baby brother.” She hugged John, not as hard as the other two. “I’m so glad you could join us. Now, come in before you all freeze to death.”  
  
John heard Sherlock mutter something about it being impossible for that to happen while he unloaded their bags.  
  
Inside, they were greeted by Siger Holmes. John had thought he would be a carbon copy of Mycoft, but he turned out to be a nice old man. He seemed very kind and gentle, very welcoming.  
  
Once settled into the guest bedroom, John wandered downstairs to find Violet in the kitchen, making tea.  
  
“The boys are outside smoking. I don’t know where they picked up that habit.” She tutted. “Would you like some tea, John?”  
  
“Please.” He smiled, looking around the kitchen. The Holmes’ home felt… ah… well, like home. Moreso than anywhere he had ever lived before. He almost wanted to be adopted by them.  
  
“We’ll take it in the sitting room - it’s right through there if you’d like to go in now. Siger is up to something around here.” She patted John on the shoulder.  
  
He found his way into the sitting room, which was being warmed by a nice fire.   
  
John took a look around the room. His eyes ended up at the book selves, which were filled with books on mathematics and science. There were also loads of photos. John laughed a photo of little Sherlock in a tricorne hat, holding up a paper sword. The next was of Sherlock from probably his uni days. He was standing with another bloke, smiling. John hadn’t seen Sherlock smile like that ever; it was like a real smile. John had just seen small smirks or faked smiles from Sherlock.  
  
“Looking at photos of my little boy? He wanted be a pirate, thought it was the only way he’d get to learn about everything, everywhere.” Violet set the tea down on the coffee table before walking over to where John was standing. “Oh, Victor. So sad, isn’t it?”  
  
John nodded; he didn’t know what else to say. He probably should have said that Sherlock had never told him about Victor. That would have been the right thing to do, but he was just so bloody curious.  
  
“What my poor boy went through…” She frowned. “But the past is the past, isn’t it? Is Sherlock doing well? He never tells me. Mike says that he’s fine but you never really know, do you?”  
  
He had a million questions, but he needed to ask Sherlock, not his mum. “He’s doing well. I wish he would eat better.”  
  
“Sherlock keeps a strange schedule. He always did. I worried about him so much when he was a boy.” She sipped her tea.  
  
“Are you boring John with mindless blather?” Sherlock strode in, his cheeks and nose pink from the cold.  
  
“We were talking about Victor and how you don’t take care of yourself properly.” She gave him a Look.  
  
Sherlock glanced at John, looking almost nervous. He was probably realising he’d made a terrible mistake, letting someone into his family’s home. After all, he never talked about himself, especially his past.  
  
“Just as I suspected: boring.” Sherlock fell into the arm chair.  
  
They chatted about Violet’s former career and how she still loved maths. John didn’t understand most of the things she spoke about with such passion, but he loved it. She had written several books on various topics. It was completely obvious where Sherlock got his brains from.  
  
John discovered that Sherlock’s father had taught him and Mycroft how to deduce as children. Siger had spent countless years in the SIS, doing things he could not speak about. But they were all probably fascinating. John was sure he could get something out of Sherlock about Siger’s past, but he’d have to wait on that. The next time he got Sherlock alone, there were other things that needed to be talked about.  
  
On the whole, the Holmeses were the most interesting family that John had ever had the pleasure to meet. They were all eccentric in their own ways, but John was sure that deep down they all loved and cared for each other, even Sherlock.  
  
Following tea, Sherlock took John on a walk around the property to kill time before supper. It was obvious to John that the matchmaker wanted to squash whatever questions John had.  
  
“Victor?” John asked as they walked beyond the stone fence.  
  
“I suppose you should know…”  
  
“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”  
  
“I think I just want to get it over with because I can’t stand that look on your face. Then again, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stand the look on your face after I tell you.”  
  
“I will try my hardest not to look at you any differently.”  
  
“You already do after hearing whatever my mother said. What did she say?”  
  
“Just that Victor was a nice lad but it was sad, whatever it was that happened. You went through a lot, and she worried about you.”  
  
“I may as well tell you how it started… In short I used to solve crimes for fun when I was younger, starting when I was twelve. When a local boy died at a community pool, I suspected it was foul play. I ended up proving it to the police, but they were never able to find the killer.”  
  
Only Sherlock would take up investigating murder as an after school activity.  
  
“From then on, I continued solving crimes into uni, where I met Victor. I… I fell in love, stupid thing to do… I know what love is,” Sherlock scoffed. “He read literature but thought I was interesting and what I did was interesting. I didn’t find what he did very interesting, but I enjoyed being around him very much.”  
  
“He read literature and you don’t know the classics?” John couldn’t help but asking.  
  
“John!”  
  
“Right, sorry, go on.”  
  
“After uni we moved to London together, and he continued studying to be a professor. I started consulting with Lestrade at Scotland Yard.  
  
“About eight years ago, a few years after we graduated Cambridge, there was a string of suicides that I proved weren’t suicides. This set off a spiral of cases connected to a Moriarty, the man — well back then he was a boy as well — who killed the boy at the pool. He’d apparently developed an obsession with my mind at a very early age and wanted me to join him in his vast criminal web.  
  
“Long story short, Moriarty kidnapped Victor when he finally got bored of just toying with me. I found them, but when I got there I refused to join him. He killed Victor in front of me.”  
  
John swore he heard Sherlock’s voice break. It was the most emotional he had ever heard the man being, and it made John’s heart sink a little. John wasn’t sure what to do but Sherlock just continued on with his story.  
  
“Mycroft was following the whole thing and caught up to where we were. Moriarty was killed, along with the important players in his network. I stopped solving crimes immediately.”  
  
John didn’t know what to say. He knew that Sherlock didn’t want any pity or sympathy or anything.   
  
So instead he asked in his most normal voice, “And you started being a matchmaker?”  
  
“No,” he snickered. “I ran off for three years, travelled the world, and developed a relationship with cocaine and heroin.”  
  
Well, that was probably why Sherlock didn’t let loose at all…  
  
“Then when I came back - after Mycroft sent me to rehab, that is - I started matchmaking. It put my skills to good use, and now I’m rather respected in the field, don’t you think?”  
  
John nodded. “It’s getting better now that I’m here.”  
  
“I was doing just fine on my own.”  
  
“I don’t doubt that, but at least fewer people are leaving your flat in tears and you’re making more money.” This was a nice, safe subject to stick to.  
  
“Both of those are correct,” Sherlock hummed. “We won’t be speaking about my past again. It’s over, and I don’t particularly wish to rehash needlessly painful topics.”  
  
“Can I just ask a question?”  
  
“You may, but I might not answer it.”  
  
“Would you ever date again?”  
  
“Highly doubtful. Why? Do you have someone in mind?”  
  
“No, I was just curious. In case I find your match.”  
  
Sherlock just scoffed at John. Apparently, his match was long gone. “There are some experiments around the property I want to check on. You’re welcome to join, but I won’t be answering any more of your questions.”  
  
John agreed not to ask anything else and joined him on checking on old experiments. He felt a lot closer to Sherlock after finding out more about his past.  

***

  Sherlock lay on his childhood bed on Christmas morning, not wanting to get out and face his family for another whole day.  He only joined in the celebrations because it was the only way to get his parents to leave him alone during the rest of the year. And Mycroft would also him not pester him as much.  
  
He did not want to look at John for another minute either. The night before he’d had the horrible realisation that he cared for John and John cared for him. They were friends. He hadn’t had a friend in years. How did that end up happening? He didn’t need a friend, all he had wanted from John to be was a flatmate. He was fine before John came along, he didn’t need anyone. Now here he was at his family’s home with his flatmate on Christmas.  
  
He shouldn’t have invited him. What was wrong with him?  
  
Victor was the only other person ever to join them for the holiday. John was not Victor. John couldn’t be Victor. Sherlock could not do that all over again. He was positive that John did not want him, not that it mattered. They weren’t a match; Sherlock had lost his match already.  
  
When they’d had that little hand-to-hand demonstration, John would have jumped out of his own skin if it were possible, in revulsion that his body decided to develop an erection. Clearly, he did not want to think of Sherlock that way. It was just his body doing what bodies do in those circumstances.  
  
“Sherlock, I was sent up to get you out of bed. It’s nearly noon, and your mum wants you to have something to eat before dinner. It seems she’s afraid that you’ll starve.”  
  
The matchmaker looked up to see John standing in his doorway, wearing the most hideous jumper known to man. He didn’t have his cane with him, though. Still no sense on that front.   
  
John should have collapsed when Sherlock attacked him, but it seemed to have made him stronger. Curious. He hated John.  
  
“You mean you, along with my mother, fear I’ll starve.”  
  
John didn’t say anything but moved into his room, “Are you… you don’t have to be uncomfortable with me after… our discussion yesterday.”  
  
“I was just putting off spending any more time with those people. I’m so bored, I could pull my hair out.”  
  
“Not me? Am I not boring?”  
  
John was not boring, but there was no way Sherlock was going to tell the him that. “You are. I misspoke.”  
  
“Come have lunch. Your father wants to play chess with you as well.”  
  
“Did you play with him?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Yeah, why? It was pleasant.”  
  
“I didn’t take you for a chess player.”  
  
“I’m normally not, but it was nice chatting with your dad. He told me about how you nearly burnt the house down when you were six and how you cut off your cousin’s ponytail for an experiment the next year.”  
  
“She hates me to this day for it, which I don’t understand because she looks much better with short hair. It suits her face.” He jumped out of bed and moved past John towards the stairs.  
  
“Sounds like you were a right terror.” John followed behind, stillwithout a limp.  
  
John had walked away from the dinner table the previous night without his cane as well, but before he’d even got to the sitting room Mummy had to say something about it. After that Sherlock warned his entire family not to say a word about the missing cane, if it happened again.   
  
Sherlock felt like he was never going to solve the disappearing limp. There were no real triggers he could put his finger on. He wondered briefly if he would get bored of John once the mystery was solved. Somewhere in his big brain, he was hoping the answer to that was no.  
  
“By the way, Happy Christmas.”  
  
“Bah humbug.”  
  
“Bugger off, you’re having a lovely time.” John nudged him off the last step.  
  
Sherlock flipped him off.  
  
“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, do not be so rude.” Mummy hit him on the arm as she passed with her potatoes.  
  
John laughed behind him.  
  
He went the entire day without using the cane. It wasn’t until the next morning when they left for London that Sherlock saw John with the hateful thing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little. I started a new job and things have been crazy.


	8. John's Second Potential Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [harpling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/harpling/pseuds/harpling) for being a lovely beta!

“Do you have sex? Ever?” John asked one February morning. He was cooking breakfast as Sherlock sat wrapped up in a sheet, poring over emails from potential clients. He was making Sherlock go through the emails this morning because John had cleaned the whole flat two weeks in a row after Sherlock trashed it for ‘experiments.’

It was just as hard as it was easy to live with Sherlock. John loved every moment of helping clients and just being around Sherlock because they got on so well. They were fast friends, even if Sherlock wouldn’t really admit to that. But the man made a mess of everything and was an absolute annoying dick at times. John couldn’t count how often he’d exploded at Sherlock over those obnoxious traits of his.

“What makes you ask?” Sherlock pressed his finger to his lips.

“I haven’t ever seen you with anyone, I don’t know.”

John found himself thinking about Sherlock’s sex life recently after waking up from a dream, ok multiple fucking dreams, he should not be having about your flatmate. He found himself googling whether it were normal. According to people online, it didn’t always mean that you wanted to shag the person. It meant that they were close and had a bond, which John wouldn’t deny.

“I haven’t seen you spending the night at some woman’s flat either, John.”

“I’m a washed up army doctor with a dodgy leg and sore shoulder. You’re a healthy popular matchmaker who can probably charm the pants off anyone in a minute just to get off.”

Sherlock shut his laptop and looked over at John. “You’re very easy to trust and talk to. If you really wanted to ‘get a leg over,’ as you so crudely say, you could do it. I don’t understand - if you’re so hard up, why didn’t you shag Sarah?”

“Because she didn’t want to.”

“How is that possible? You both should have been physically attracted to each other.”

“We broke up in December; it’s February. Why are we on it?” They’d been talking about something else earlier, oh right, Sherlock’s sex life not his. “We got off topic.”

Sherlock gave a bit of a smile.

“I hate when you do that.” The man could manipulate any situation.

“I just don’t see why my sex life is so important.”

John scooped his eggs out on to the plate with a little more force than was really necessary. “I know you don’t get into relationships, but don’t you have any type of desire for sex?”

“Why are we talking about this?”

“It’s a normal thing friends chat about.”

“Normal is boring,” Sherlock said as the doorbell rang.

“Maybe you should get dressed,” John suggested, giving up on Sherlock’s sex life.

“It’s probably Lestrade.” Sherlock watched as John sat down with his food. “You didn’t make me any?”

He scoffed, “I’m not your chef or your personal assistant or your maid...”

“You act like all of that and more, maybe you should reconsider,” He said as they heard footsteps on the stairs.

“Shut up, you git,” John said, looking up to the doorway to see a rather large man in a nice suit followed by another. “Um, hello?”

Sherlock cocked his head, deducing the new arrivals. “Hmm, interesting.”

***

Sherlock assured John that the men worked for Mycroft and, after an argument about putting on some trousers (Sherlock refused but John brought clothes with him anyway), they were sitting in Buckingham bloody Palace. John set the clothes on the table in front of them and looked over at Sherlock before they both burst out in a fit of giggles.

“I feel like I should steal an ashtray,” he laughed.

Sherlock just continued chuckling.

After another minute of chuckling, John looked pointedly at Sherlock to ask,“ So, is this what you normally wears to meet the Queen?” Which, of course, set them both off again. When he finally got himself under control, John managed to gasp out, “What are we doing here?”

“Mycroft probably wants me to solve a crime for the royal family.”

“Do you even know their names?” John teased. He almost revelled in it when Sherlock didn’t know anything about general knowledge.

“No.”

He shook his head and studied the other man in his sheet. “I really can’t believe you’re not wearing clothes right now, in Buckingham Palace of all places.”

“He’s a child, John. You should know that by now,” Mycroft said as he entered with another man in a perfectly tailored suit.

“Nice to see you, Mycroft,” John stood up and greeted the other Holmes with a handshake, as well as the man with him. “John Watson.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Carlton Smith.”

“This is Sherlock Holmes.” He gestured behind him, knowing that Sherlock would not say a word.

“Now, we can chat once Sherlock puts on some clothes.”

“No. Who’s my client?”

“That’s confidential.”

“I need to meet my client; I can’t work without doing that.”

“We can talk about that as soon as you put on your trousers.”

Sherlock stood up and started to walk away with the look of a petulant child. Before he got far, Mycroft stepped on the sheet, making it fall. John and the other men got an eyeful of Sherlock’s backside. Not a bad one.

“Let go,” Sherlock growled, holding the fabric low on his waist.

“No.”

“Let go or I’ll walk away.”

“Put your clothes.” The other brother demanded. John was a bit embarrassed by what was happening. “You’ll meet your client.”

Sherlock groaned but listened to his brother.

After a few minutes of chatting Sherlock rejoined them, dressed in the trousers, jacket, shirt, and shoes that John had grabbed on the way out of the flat. Carlton began to explain that someone in the royal family was looking for a mate but did not want the trouble (and press interest) of dating without some assurance of finding a partner who would be both socially acceptable and reciprocally attracted. Carlton had been tasked with finding matchmakers and it was down to Sherlock and Irene Adler.

“I’ve heard her name before,” John said. “One of our clients said they went to her but they weren’t happy.”

“Irene is talking with the potential client now, When she’s finished, Sherlock may conduct his interview.”

“What about John?”

“That’s not going to happen, I apologise Mr Watson.”

“Doctor,” Sherlock corrected. “I’d rather have John with me.”

“It’s fine, Sherlock; just do what you do... and don’t be so much of a twat.”

The matchmaker tried to divulge more information about the client while John enjoyed a cuppa. He thought of how Queen Elizabeth was sitting around somewhere in this very same building. Maybe she was having her tea as well. Strange.

“All yours, darling.” A woman in a tight white dress and black heels sauntered into the room. Her lips were painted blood red, and her dark hair was pulled up. There was absolutely no denying she was attractive. John knew she was probably way out of his league, but since when did that stop him? Shite, why was he thinking about sex so much lately? He needed to get laid.

“Ah, if it isn’t the famous Sherlock Holmes and his Doctor Watson.” She smiled like she knew all of their secrets. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Sherlock stood up. “You’re just an overpriced escort service; you have no real skills.”

She laughed as Carlton joined Sherlock standing. “I’ll show you the way, Mr Holmes.”

The two matchmakers exchanged glances. John had no idea business was so competitive in the matchmaking world.

“So, Doctor Watson, tell me: is the sex with him as good as I think it would be?”

John gaped. Why did everyone assume this? He hadn’t even spoken to Irene yet. Not so much as a ‘how do you do’ and she’s jumping straight to sex and assumptions. Just because Sherlock was attractive did not automatically mean John was attracted to him. He had nice plump lips, that John would probably enjoy kissing. He was tall, with dark hair, and built well, which he found attractive in the men he dated. That back of his and that arse that Mycroft had exposed... Sherlock had big, strong hands that he wouldn’t mind having wrapped around — oh no. No. Fucking hell. John did want to shag him.

Was he really so hard up that he wanted to shag Sherlock? Did he have feelings for Sherlock? Would Sherlock be repulsed by it? Would he enjoy it? Apparently John couldn’t ease into things with Sherlock; he just got slapped right in the sodding face with everything. Flatmate. BAM. Colleague. BAM. Mate. BAM. Sexual fantasy. BAM. Fucking hell.

“We aren’t... we’re not together.”

“You should tell yourself that. He does have a nice arse; I can understand why you were staring as he walked away.”

John felt his cheeks heat. He really wished Mycroft wasn’t sitting across from him, no doubt observing and deducing every embarrassing detail of this little scene and storing it in a smug Mind Palace of his own.

“Pity, you’d make a fetching couple.” She grinned, “I’m off now. Tell Sherlock I said good luck.”

With that, the woman was off and he was left with Mycroft. When the clicking of her heels had faded into the distance, Mycroft looked John with a perfectly blank expression and said, just as blandly and smoothly as could be, “Sherlock doesn’t date.”

“I know.”

“He also doesn’t have friendships.”

John furrowed his brow. Was Mycroft really trying to tell him that he should ask the younger Holmes out on a proper date? He really didn’t need this. He was having enough problems without Mycroft Holmes and Irene Adler giving him relationship advice.

“I know - I’m an exception there, not that he’ll own up to being my friend.” John set his tea cup down.

“He doesn’t like admitting those things. He’d never admit to having any other interest in you, either. After everything that happened with Victor...”

John didn’t want to have that conversation, so he changed the subject. “So…, seen much of DI Lestrade lately?”

“You’re spending far too much time with my brother.” Mycroft took his phone out.

John grinned but inside he was having a bit of an anxiety attack. He really could not have this shite with his flatmate. He needed to figure some things out.

***

After a week or so of debating with himself, John decided that what he really needed was to have sex and, thanks to his close friendship with Sherlock, his body had just assumed that was the easiest way to get off. He just had to remind himself that sex with Sherlock was not a good idea.

In the meantime Sherlock had not heard back about his potential royal client and simply assumed that he was not going to get the job. Clearly, Irene had charmed her way in while Sherlock hadn’t stooped to the same level. But he did get one thing from Buckingham Palace: an ashtray. John couldn’t believe it when the man pulled it out of his coat pocket on their cab ride home. He’d been joking about stealing the thing.

It now sat proudly on their coffee table, but he refused to let Sherlock actually use it. Not that he was even supposed to be smoking in the flat.

John walked into the flat one evening to find it dark and quiet. He let out a long yawn; it had been a terrible day at the surgery. As he walked into the kitchen, he was grabbed from behind and pinned against the wall. Without thinking, John punched his assailant and wrestled them to the ground.

“It’s just me,” Sherlock’s voice rumbled.

“Why did you do that?” He yelled, pressing his thumbs into Sherlock’s carotid arteries quickly before pulling back and getting off the floor.

“Because I was bored.”

“I hate you.” John turned the lights on in the kitchen.

“You do not.” Sherlock caught his breath before scrambling to get up. “I found you another match.”

“I didn’t tell you that I was looking.”

“Not in so many words, but you’re looking to get a leg over and get into a relationship. I found someone whom I believe will match all of your needs. Her name is Elizabeth. You have a reservation at eight tonight.”

“It’s past five already!” John flicked the kettle on once he put the lights on in the kitchen. “You’re mad if you think I want to go out tonight.”

“You had a horrible day at the surgery. Why don’t you have your tea, shower, and get ready. You’ll like her, I know you will.”

John rubbed his face. Maybe it would make him feel better instead than sitting at home and deliberately not thinking about Sherlock’s arse and lips anywhere near him. “Ok, fine, that’s... ok.” John got out two mugs.

“Good.”

It was probably better that he at least go out and try to meet new people. The vast majority of his time, he was with Sherlock. He did go out with Mike from time to time. Bill was back, so he’d been to the pub a few times with him and some of Bill’s mates. It was a good time, but John really liked being back at the flat. He’d had no idea that he was such a homebody but apparently the older he got, the more he just wanted to be in. He needed some space from Sherlock so this was probably for the best.

***

Elizabeth was a beautiful, curvy brunette. She was a librarian and enjoyed travelling. Their conversation was easy all night, so he wasn’t very surprised when she invited him back for coffee. It was all great... except the sex. It was alright but just alright. There was nothing there. He found himself wondering what the spark with Sherlock would be like. Not exactly a good thought to be having just after sex with someone else.

He stayed the night because he didn’t want to be an arsehole. In the morning, she had to rush off to work and John was sure that she’d felt the same way about the whole experience. He left it up to her to call.

“You got a leg over? Feel better?” Sherlock was sitting in his arm chair, his arms curled around his legs.

John snickered. “The sex was bad. There was no spark at all there.”

Sherlock frowned, “Why are you so difficult? I’ve never had to try more than once for anyone except you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“As you should be. We have a client at one.”

“Ok, let me shower and all that.” John yawned. He could probably use a nap too. He hadn’t sleep at all, for fear he’d have a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I haven't been writing much at all because of the new job so updates will probably be every two weeks.


	9. Clingy Octopus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is currently unbeta'd/un-britpicked. I'm unsure of what's up with my beta at the moment, probably work and actual life and that's fine but I'm almost nearly done writing and I wanted to post the next chapter. If anyone is interested in being my beta for the remaining chapters then let me know in the comments.

At the end of March, John came downstairs one morning to find Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table with a small suitcase at his feet.

“You going away?” John couldn’t remember Sherlock mentioning anything about a holiday.  Maybe it was a family emergency of some sort.  Hopefully not – John really liked the Holmes family.

“We are.”

“We are...” John trailed off, positive that he hadn’t been told about this. How did Sherlock know that he didn’t have anything on… ok, that’s stupid:  Sherlock knew John’s schedules better than he did himself. But what if he didn’t want to go away with Sherlock? It would have been nice to have a bit of a chat about this before the day of their departure. 

In the last month, John had made it a point to spend time with Bill and his mates, who in turn were now John’s mates. He did continue to help Sherlock with clients, but he tried not to spend so much of their free time together. He hoped that Sherlock didn’t think John was avoiding him; he just needed some distance to clear his head and get his libido under control.

It was mostly out of fear that if they grew closer than they were then John thought he might end up thinking he was falling in love with the matchmaker.

“Yes, there’s a singles retreat in Dartmoor. Our client, Henry Knight, asked me if I could possibly attend as he’d like some insight on the people there with him. If it doesn’t work out with any of the women there, he said that he wants me to look for another mate.”

“Right, why didn’t you tell me about this yesterday or whenever it was booked.”

“It was booked when you were out with your friends the other night, and when you got back you went straight to your room. After that, I forgot about it.”

“You could have sent me a text.”

“I did.” Sherlock crossed his arms.

John pulled his phone from his pocket and found that he did indeed have a text from Sherlock that he had never read. It was probably because the lazy git had texted five times after that about needing milk, tea, and bread and how John should see about running to the shops whenever convenient... or inconvenient.

“Sorry. Wait, no I’m not. This is your fault for not being able to do the shopping.”

“Quite all right,” Sherlock muttered, ignoring John as he normally did. “We’re renting a car and driving up there to meet with Henry at his home before he joins the group of nine other singles and the woman in charge of the getaway at an inn not too far from where he lives.”

“So, are we going to join the group or something?”

“No, we’re going on holiday. Well, we’re going to appear to be on holiday to everyone but Henry, that is. Be sure to pack your ugliest, warmest jumpers.”

“Bugger off. What’s the catch?”

“We have to pretend to be a couple. It’s the only way we’ll be given enough access to everyone at the gathering without raising suspicion. I’ve done these singles gatherings before, and they’re all horrid. I can’t bring myself to pretend to be interested in someone who is mind-numbingly dull. At least I can talk to you without wanting to stab myself in the eye, most of the time.”

Great, pretend to be in a relationship with Sherlock. Nothing terrible could possibly come of that. “So… we’ll have to share a bed, won’t we?”

“It’d look strange if we didn’t. There weren’t any rooms with two single beds anyhow, and there weren’t any free rooms for us to have our own.”

John sighed, “Ok.”

“That bothers you.”

“No, it’s fine.” 

It wasn’t, mostly because he didn’t know what type of dreams he was going to be having. If he woke up with his cock hard and pressed up against Sherlock because of a pleasant dream, he’d probably die of embarrassment on the spot. If he woke up and punched Sherlock in the face because of a night terror, not as bad but still not something that he wanted to deal with.

“Good., You need to pack. We’ll get something on the way for you to eat. You’re always irritable when you don’t have something to eat.”

“Most people are, Sherlock. We need food to function properly; it’s basic bio. You should know that from your years at uni.” John shook his head at the other man. 

“I eat,” he said. “I just don’t eat to your liking, apparently.”

John really didn’t want to have the same row they’d had a hundred times already, so he decided to move on. “Anyway, it’s just Friday to Sunday, yeah?”

“Yes, go on, I hate being late.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I know; but you do.” Sherlock grinned.

“I don’t even know what time we’re supposed to be there. I don’t know what we’re going to do all weekend while you stalk this group of singles. I can’t comment on our lateness. I bet you like that.” John muttered as he went up the stairs.

Sherlock smirked at him and he felt something in the pit of his stomach.

Fucking hell. This was going to be one long bloody weekend.

***

John was nervous about sharing a bed. Specifically, he was nervous about sharing a bed with Sherlock. It was possibly due to the nightmares that John still suffered from every so often, but it was more likely due to the fact that John was sexually attracted to him. He really hoped John wasn’t so daft to think that Sherlock couldn’t figure that out. Obviously, Sherlock could read John better than John could lie to Sherlock.

He’d hoped that he could help John get over that infatuation by setting him up with a woman who was also looking for sex along with a long term relationship. That backfired when the sex was apparently appalling.

Sherlock couldn’t understand why the two matches he had set up for John had both been terrible failures. He had never had that happen to him before. He had never had to work so hard on someone.

Sherlock didn’t mind that John was physically attracted to him, because he wasn’t trying to sleep with him. If he started to attempt to ‘get a leg over’ with Sherlock, then that could be a potential problem. He couldn’t become any more vulnerable with John; it was bad enough he lived with him and knew about Victor. They were friends, how horrible was that? He’d been doing a very good job of not having any relationships since Victor. And yet John managed to wiggle his way in there and become a part of his life, more than anyone else who had tried in all those years.

Since Christmas, John had been using his cane less but when it was mentioned, he always went back to needing it. Sadly, Sherlock was STILL clueless about the cause of that. He was going to have to talk to John about it because the current method of study was clearly not leading him to an answer. The whole thing was making him feel like an idiot.

But he had no time to deal with John’s sexual desires (even though the man was panicking, thinking Sherlock would be appalled by him having an erection in the morning) or his limp because they had a job to do, thankfully.

Their ride to Dartmoor was filled with John’s yammering about their surroundings and how beautiful things were. He also fiddled with the radio so much Sherlock nearly broke his hand when he couldn’t stand it any longer.

When they arrived at Henry Knight’s home, John had one of his awkward moments when he didn’t know how to deal with wealth. Following introductions John said, “So, you’re rich?”

“Ignore him.” Sherlock was mortified but didn’t let on. John always claimed that Sherlock could be embarrassing in his treatment of people, but John could be just as bad. The man was clearly selective to what he saw.

They did their usual consultation and Sherlock concluded that Henry was looking for a partner who would be patient and understanding. Henry had been rather traumatised by witnessing his father’s death at a very young age (apparently a close family friend had killed him in what sounded like a gruesome and fascinating murder that Sherlock wished he’d had the chance to investigate). Henry enjoyed being alone time but disliked being lonely, so he needed to find a partner who wasn’t clingy. He collected art and read a fair bit. Sherlock needed to find someone with similar interests or a person who would enjoy learning about what Henry found interesting and make sure that their passions matched up well enough.

“I have very low expectations for this singles event,” Sherlock sighed. “Most of these people are desperate.”

“Sherlock,” John said warningly.

“I didn’t say he was,” he defended himself even though he thought that Henry was desperate as well. The man had signed up for a singles retreat as well as a consultation with Sherlock.

“It’s ok, John, I understand. My mum said the same thing,” Henry frowned.

Sherlock moved on. “When you meet us at the inn, remember that you don’t know us. I’ll text you my observations, but don’t check the texts when you’re in the middle of talking to someone. Most people find that extremely off-putting, for some reason. If I need to speak with you or you me, we can meet somewhere off the property when you have the time.”

“Ok, sounds good. Enjoy your fake holiday.” Henry was nervous. The man didn’t enjoy dating; he just wanted to jump into a solid relationship. Sherlock had a woman in mind, but he’d have to suffer through this weekend first.  He had already asked John if they could leave as soon they found Henry a match, but John seemed inclined to take advantage of the whole week as long as Henry was paying for it.

“Well, John and I should go check into the inn,” Sherlock excused himself abruptly and made his way to their rented car as John did whatever it was he did once Sherlock vacated the conversation. It was probably making more boring conversation, honestly.

***

Just as Sherlock had expected, the inn was boring and the group of singles offered absolutely nothing of interest. He was going to be stuck there for two entire days, with nothing but the moors around them. John was probably going to make him go on a hike or something dreadful, but he could probably get out of it by saying he was working.

While John was busy being flustered because the inn owners were questioning him about Sherlock’s sleeping habits, Sherlock observed half of the group, three women and two men, making small talk before their program. All of the members of the group at the table were chatting about the dullest topics imaginable, like the weather and what brought them to the retreat. They all gave the same bland answers of not having time to date or not being able to meet anyone. Sherlock was sure that two of them had standards too high and all of them were dating the wrong people. Sherlock didn’t understand why they weren’t honest either about why they were there: they were desperate and lonely, just like Henry. If people would just admit these things, their lives would all be much easier. John had once said that no one would ever live ‘happily ever after’ if they all acted like Sherlock, and the world would be a pretty miserable place.

Apparently, he tended to be too much and too harsh for some people.

He looked up to see John walking over with the keys to their room, his ears pink from embarrassment.

“Come on, love, let me show you to the room.” John gave Sherlock a wink that nearly made him choke on his own spit. He’d thought John was going to be cold the entire weekend, especially after his behaviour with the proprietors. Sherlock tried to determine John’s motives from his face, but his mind was skipping too much to focus.

“I figured we’d put it on in front of people,” John laughed as they climbed the stairs. “I don’t know. If you’re a couple on holiday, you’re supposed to act a certain way, yeah?”

“I suppose, but I didn’t take you for much of an actor. You’re a terrible liar.”

“How was that acting?” John kept his voice low, as if their ruse really mattered. Back when he was working as a consulting detective, Victor and he had occasionally gone on dates or holidays in order to check out a suspect or an establishment that seemed dodgy. Victor was an appallingly bad actor; it was a good thing that they didn’t have to sham being in love. John was far worse; it was good there wasn’t a chance of death in this abysmal performance.

“Amateurish,” Sherlock said as John stopped in front of their room.

“Eat your words, I was brilliant.” He opened the door with a chuckle. It seemed that John was loosening up… until he opened the door to see the narrow mattress that apparently passed for a double bed.

“This will be just fine.” Sherlock almost enjoyed John’s obvious discomfort. Normally, John was the one who was comfortable in any situation.

“Yeah, as long you’re not some... clingy octopus.”

Sherlock gaped as John threw himself on the bed after putting his bag in the corner. “I am not.”

“You don’t sleep with anyone – how would you know?” John frowned as soon as the words came out of his mouth.

“I’ve never heard complaints from my bed companions in the past,” Sherlock muttered as John sat at the small table by the window and picked up a book on local sights.

“Sorry... I didn’t mean —” John curled the top of the page, nervously.

“I don’t think I looked or sounded offended. It’s a fair thing to say. In your months knowing me, you have not met anyone with whom I’ve been intimate. You know that I’ve been with someone in the past, but you don’t know much about our relationships. You think, maybe not on the surface but deep down, that I’m starved for touch. I’m not.”

“You don’t like being intimate?”

Sherlock bit his lip and stalled for time, sitting up to get a better look at John. He hated discussing these topics but he felt he needed to say something to John. He was always feeling like he needed to say something to John. That sodding friendship relationship. “I liked being with Victor, in every way. But being that way with others makes me very uneasy.”

“You still love Victor?”

Sherlock let the silence answer for him.

After a few moments, and John’s appropriately abashed look, Sherlock changed the subject. “The rest of the group is meeting in the pub very soon. We should go down there and take a look at them all. I’ll tell you all their life stories; I know you enjoy that when I’m not insulting them to their faces.”

John turned around and laughed, “Fine. What are we going to do when they’re doing activities?”

“You can do as you please. There’s a shooting range you may be interested in visiting,” Sherlock suggested.

***

As Sherlock knew before even seeing everyone, there were no good matches for Henry at the inn. There was a therapist who might possibly hold some interest for Henry, so he pointed his client in her direction. It would at least give Henry someone slightly compatible to chat with the rest of the weekend. They weren’t as perfect of a match as Sherlock would inevitably find for him, but it was better than nothing.

When the group went outside, Sherlock followed unobtrusively. He and John made their way out to the empty picnic table, where they could hear everything at the larger table while pretending to have a pint and chat. For a while, the assembled desperate singles were made to play extremely unoriginal “ice-breaker” games to get to know each other, which always made everyone even more nervous and closed up than before. Sherlock listened in disgust to the stammered lies and embellished life stories reinforcing his general contempt for the whole affair.

He was bored with the whole thing and quite happy to see the group go off on some sightseeing. With nothing else to occupy his time, Sherlock accompanied John to the shooting range. In the long, dusty room, Sherlock was astonished at the accuracy of John’s aim.  How on earth had a doctor developed that kind of marksmanship?  John explained that he’d learned to handle firearms as a kid, when his uncle in the country would let him practise with his not-quite-legal hunting rifle.  His skill had just got better in the army.

Apparently when one is bored there, there’s not a lot to do but waste ammunition or have sex. Sherlock tried not to wonder how much sex John was having when he ran out of ammunition...

They returned back to the inn for tea, where the assembled singles were acting as if they were suddenly all best of friends. Sherlock could see that two of the women were interested in the same man and trying (and failing) to hide their silent competition. Meanwhile, an older (and very badly toupee’d) man kept leering at a pretty but very shy woman who was not interested in the slightest. Another woman was realising that she had made a horrible mistake joining the retreat - there was some hope for her yet. Maybe he could chat with her later and slip her a business card.

Sherlock went on a walk before dinner, leaving John back in the room to read and rest his shoulder, which was bothering him. Twice, he started talking to John, musing aloud about his deductions, before remember that he was alone.. He was becoming far too attached to John. When they returned to London, he was going to need to put some distance between them all.

For now, distance was going to be literally impossible when they had to share a bed, which John appeared to be nervous about.

Following dinner and a few drinks at the pub, where Sherlock deduced everyone and identified no fewer than four cases of infidelity, they headed to their room. John insisted that they sleep, for some reason. Since Sherlock wasn’t really working any longer, John insisted on taking advantage of the time off to see the local sights.. Sherlock did want to meet with Henry one more time to see how he was getting on with the woman he’d suggested.

“I’m so bloody tired,” John said around a yawn as he returned in his pyjamas.

Sherlock just nodded, settling into the bed with his laptop.

“Work?”

“I’m looking to see if there’s anyone around here for Henry. We should go to the nearest village tomorrow to see if I can find anyone looking for a match.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” John looked at his phone.

“I know it is.”

“Get some sleep, yeah?” He finally settled under the duvet, as far away as he could get without falling off the mattress.

Sherlock ignored John and started his search on Facebook before moving on to dating websites. Eventually, his eyes got heavy and he decided to call it a night, even though he hadn’t yet found anyone local who was in the age range Henry wanted.

When he woke up however many hours later, Sherlock realised that he was apparently a ‘clingy octopus’ – he was attached firmly to John’s back and wrapped completely around him. After a moment of panic, Sherlock slowly and carefully moved away from his sleeping bedmate. He hoped desperately that John had slept through the entire cuddling session, if for no other reason than to spare himself John’s pity at Sherlock’s (assumed) pathetically love-starved state. Which was most certainly not the case.

If John did know that Sherlock had attached himself in his slumber, then he miraculously became a very brilliant actor overnight; there was nothing in his behavior to show that he knew the next morning. The only thing out of the ordinary about John’s behaviour was that he said his leg wasn’t bothering him at all. He even went around without his cane the whole of Saturday, speculating that it was the country air. That would have been an absurd reason: his lack of a limp occurred in the city as well.

They went on to finish up their weekend in Dartmoor with sightseeing and a trip to the village, where Sherlock found Henry’s match. Another success in his book.

If only he could find one for John.


	10. Save The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but here it is. Thank you [harpling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/harpling/pseuds/harpling)!

“Oh god, and then when John turned his helmet over a bloody fucking camel spider came crawling out of it,” Bill wheezed through a laugh. “I’ve never seen the man more terrified in all the years we served together.”

“Fuck off! You screamed bloody murder too!” John defended himself, albeit half-heartedly. “Hated those monsters. Probably the worst part of the entire sodding war.” He did, but for some reason he thought maybe Sherlock might like the disgusting creatures.

John found himself always thinking of Sherlock; it was getting a bit out of hand. They really did need to have a bit more separation in their lives, but John couldn’t think how to go about achieving that aside from moving out. They were best mates and spent nearly all their free time together, when John wasn’t working or out with his other friends, but there was only so much time he could spend doing either.

Thankfully, he wasn’t thinking about shagging Sherlock as much as he had been a month ago. Most of his thoughts were centred more around what Sherlock would think or wondering what he was doing. His body seemed to have calmed itself down for the most part. He still wanted to be with Sherlock, but he wasn’t constantly thinking about him,  like before. 

“At least there’s no camel spiders around these parts,” Mark said into his empty glass. “Right, well, I’m off. The wife and I’ve got Kara’s birthday tomorrow. I’d invite you lot of lonely bachelors, but you’d be bored out of your minds at a two year old’s birthday party.” He gestured to the four still at the table, Bill and John, with Bill’s friends Rich and Pete.

“Bugger off, get home safe.” Bill waved him on.

“Actually, I’m not a bachelor any longer,” Rich announced to the group. “Nikki and I are going to get married. I proposed the other night.” 

John’s knee-jerk reaction was, ‘I wonder if Sherlock would know if they’re a match.’ He (fortunately) didn’t say it aloud; the others tended to take the piss when he talked about Sherlock. There wasn’t anything in it, but John still found it a bit too close to adolescent locker-room barbs for his comfort.

“Congrats, mate,” Bill said. “I was actually thinking that maybe it’s about time that I settle down, too. I’m too old to be redeployed, and I don’t think I’m cut out to be career military. Time to find a job a bit closer to home, picket fence, wife and family, you know. I think it’s the right time. What do you say, Johnny?”

“Hmm?”

“Would Sherlock be interested in helping a friend out?”

John scoffed, “Sherlock would say you’re not his friend.”

“Friend of a friend.”

“He barely acknowledges that we’re friends, and I live with the mad bastard. I told you, for a bloke who finds soulmates for everyone, he hates having relationships of his own.”

“I’ll pay the rate, don’t worry.”

“Oh, I don’t care; you can consult with him for free. I only take care of the cash because he couldn’t be arsed to do it. Before I came along, I’m not even sure he took actual payment.  It seems half of London owes him a favour of some sort.” John was continually amazed by that. They could eat at numerous places for free, and Sherlock said that he could get John some shoes for free and a new suit from a shop owner fixed up. Haircuts, books, flowers, the list of free things being offered them seemed endless. It was amazing how many people he made happy, and Sherlock wasn’t even fazed by it. He was just doing a job, it seemed.

“Good, because I haven’t actually got the money. The future love of my life will need all the cash I can save.”

John laughed, “I’ll talk to him and see what he has on for this week. It’ll have to be a day I’m not at the surgery; I really don’t want you chinning him when you realise what a massive twat he can be.”

“If it works for Bill, maybe I’ll have a go,” Pete said. “What about you, John? Has he set you up?”

“It’s weird: he’s so good, but he’s set me up twice and they both fizzled out. He told me that I’m his most difficult case.”

“Cause you bloody love each other.”

John rolled his eyes, a habit he must’ve picked up from Sherlock. He’d never been an eye-roller before. “We’re friends, flatmates, and colleagues.”

“I can’t wait to meet this bloke. You go on and on about him so much.”

“There’s no way he’s as mad as you say he is.” Rich shook his head. “You should bring him along one night.”

“I doubt I could get him to a pub.” John wasn’t sure if Sherlock didn’t drink because of his past drug abuse or just as a personal preference. But he certainly knew that, either way, Sherlock wouldn’t want to hang out with John’s mates.

“We’ll just have to rely on what Bill thinks of him, then.” Pete drained his pint. “My round, lads?”

“As long as it’s on you,” John grinned.

***

John got back to the flat less than two hours later to find Sherlock picking at a Banoffee straight from the pan.

“Hungry?” John asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock shrugged noncommittally as he took another bite. The man had the absolute worst sweet tooth. John was actually worried all his teeth were going to rot away. He doubted that Sherlock ever went to the dentist. . The man who did the bare minimum to care for his health probably felt the same way about his teeth.

“Where’d this come from?”

“Mrs Hudson.”

“So you’re going to eat the entire thing in one sitting?” He hovered by Sherlock’s side.

“Not to worry, doctor.” Sherlock smiled around his fork. “You look as if you have something to tell me.”

“I have a client if you’re interested.” He smiled.

The matchmaker gave him a critical look. “One of your army friends.”

“Brilliant deduction,” John said drily, finally taking a seat at the kitchen table. “What do you say? Want to give it a go?”

“Yes, as always,” Sherlock nodded. “Which one is it?”

“Bill.”

“The one who saved you. I’m sure you’re interested in seeing him happy. I’ll do my best.”

John had shared numerous stories about his time in Afghanistan with Sherlock when he  actually seemed interested. He also felt he owed Sherlock the story of how he’d got shot (helping a man shot in the field, got shot by a sniper himself, and Bill managed to save his arse) after Sherlock told him about Victor at Christmas.

“Because you’re interested in seeing me happy?” John questioned, dipping his finger into the pie for some of the cream. Sherlock made a face at John’s table manners, prompting a cheeky grin in return.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you like me. We’re best mates. You’d be lost without me.”

John really had no idea how Sherlock got on before John was around. He cleaned up after Sherlock, made sure he ate, and even sometimes had to remind him to sleep. Sherlock had doubtless driven away a good percentage of clients before. He couldn’t even keep himself entertained between cases.

Sherlock blanched at John’s flippant response.

“My god, you really hate that we’re friends,” John joked, trying to hide the sting of the realisation. He was shocked at how affected still was Sherlock by the loss of Victor.

From what he’d gathered when he was at the Holmes’, Sherlock’s upbringing had been just as filled with love and nurturing as any average person. His mum had pretty much given up her career for Mycroft and Sherlock. In comparison, his own and Harry’s upbringing looked pretty awful. John really should have been the one who couldn’t handle relationships.

“I dislike letting people getting close to me.” Sherlock wouldn’t quite meet John’s eyes. “Most people are not as easy to get on with as you are. Even though you’re a tiny minded idiot.”

“Oi!” John exclaimed, but knew that Sherlock’s insult was just a way to protect himself.

“It’s true.”

“Sod off, you prick.” He stood up. “I’m knackered. See you in the morning.”

“Don’t forget to text Bill that we’ll see him at his convenience. We’ve nothing on tomorrow, if that works.”

He got his phone out to text Bill. “I’ll let him know right now.” John gave a nod before going off to his room.

“Good night, John,” Sherlock called after him.

***

That night, John’s dreams were filled with Sherlock, but they weren’t the normal (ok, not so normal) sex dreams that he typically dealt with. They were cuddly and domestic. The two of them weren’t even doing anything, just relaxing on the sofa together. Sherlock was resting his head on John’s lap, and John was just running his fingers through his curls. John couldn’t remember what they were talking about, but it was pleasant.

He woke in the middle of the night wanting all of that. That was not good.

John stayed up the rest of the night, tossing and turning, as he thought over his feelings for Sherlock. He couldn’t quite define that squirmy little feeling in his brain and his chest and his stomach… ok, his whole sodding body. Was it lust? Was it romantic love? Was it just something for a very close friend? He couldn’t tell; he’d never felt like this with anyone.

He cared about Sherlock, deeply, but he cared about Bill and Mark and all the other mates he’d in the army as well. That didn’t mean he wanted to settle down and adopt children with them. Did he even want kids now? Would that even be possible with Sherlock? He mentally shook himself away from that train of thought. One thing at a time…

John wanted to spend all of his time with Sherlock. He wanted to laugh with him and fight with him. He really wanted to shag him so hard that he couldn’t bloody think and that constantly active brain was taken off-line… But that didn’t mean that he wanted to be with Sherlock, did it?

When he’d been in love in the past (or when he thought he was) it’d been a sudden feeling. It was lust and constantly wanting to be with the person. Then it had always faded fast. Maybe this was what real love felt like. Maybe Sherlock was his soulmate, but wouldn’t that mean he would have had love at first sight.

Whatever this feeling was, John’s usual approach was not going to work for Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock did not want anything to do with love or relationships. After losing his own apparent only true love, he seemed to have given up hope of happiness for himself. He didn’t believe in soul mates either. Plus, if John was his match, wouldn’t Sherlock have said something to him about it?

Eventually, John admitted to himself that he wouldn’t be going back to sleep any time soon and headed downstairs in search of tea.

“Good morning, John,” Sherlock looked up at him from the sofa. He was in his blue silk dressing gown, with his laptop on his lap. His hair was a mess, and he looked like he had just woken up. John had the sudden urge to just curl up against him and press kisses to his warm skin.

Bloody hell, this wasn’t going to be good. How was he going to hide it - whatever it was - from Sherlock?

“‘Morning? Tea?” He was just going to make breakfast and pretend that everything was normal. John could do it; he’d done it when it had been just about the sex. This was no different. He just loved Sherlock.

He _loved_ Sherlock.

Christ, he fucking loved Sherlock Holmes.

That triggered a panic attack as he stood in front of the kettle.

“John? Are you ok?” Sherlock was at his side out of nowhere. He had a tendency to just appear and scare the hell out of John. “I think you may be having a panic attack.”

“No shite,” he said as he let out a breath.

“You’re not breathing right.” Sherlock put his hand on John’s abdomen, and that just knocked John’s apparently not right breathing a full-scale, out of control spiral. “Keep your back straight and your arms by your side.”

John listened to him.

 “Now breathe in through your nose for one, two, three, four,” Sherlock slowly counted the seconds. “Hold it for one, two, three, four, five six. And exhale out of your mouth, like you’re trying to whistle, for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. And again.”

Sherlock counted him through it nine more times, and soon John felt he could breathe without drowning in oxygen.

“Thank you… That was… That was helpful.”

Sherlock moved his hand away, and John tried not to whine at the loss of contact.

“I just didn’t want you out of commission when Bill comes by.”

“Why?”

“I want to see how he interacts with you.”

“Ah,” John turned the kettle on.

“What happened this morning? You’re normally out of bed an hour ago. Did Harry do something? You’re acting very strange, and your panic attack was the first you’ve had in several months.”

“I’m fine,” John laughed him off. “It just happens every so often.”

“Panic attacks are usually triggered.”

John shrugged, reaching for the bread box. He knew that Sherlock was watching his every minute movement even though he had his back to him.

“Anyway,” Sherlock pushed off from the counter. “What time is our client coming?”

“Three. Is that all right?” He popped two pieces of bread in the toaster.

“Perfect, I’ve some errands to run. By the way, your cane is missing.”

Bloody hell, why was his leg doing that again. “Would you mind grabbing it for me from my room?”

“Yes, and then I’ll be off,” Sherlock said before leaving the kitchen for John’s room.

John took a deep breath, relaxing a bit. Maybe he could get away with this whole being in love with Sherlock thing. Maybe Sherlock could find his match. That would certainly be helpful in getting over the whole thing quickly.

***

When Bill showed up, they took their usual positions in the living room and Sherlock asked his usual questions. John was happy that Sherlock wasn’t verbally abusing his friend too badly.  Bill’s temper had been well-known in the regimen and wouldn’t hesitate to chin him.

“Interesting,” Sherlock put his hands, in prayer position, to his lips.

Those lovely, kissable lips.

Fucking hell. John hated himself so much at the moment for feeling anything more than companionable friendship for Sherlock. How had he let himself fall in love with his mad flatmate?

“What?” Bill asked.

“If you weren’t straight, I believe that John and yourself would be an ideal match.”

John could feel himself make a face at the suggestion. He’d certainly never thought of Bill that way.

“Oh, both of you: don’t be like that. It’s simply no wonder why you’re such good friends,” Sherlock said. “John, would you object if I set him up with Sarah?”

He shook his head, surprised by Sherlock’s match, but he and Bill did apparently share the same taste in women.

“The girl you dated for months and didn’t shag?” Bill chuckled. “You know how rare that is for John, Sherlock? Do you know what his nickname was in the army?”

“No,” Sherlock moved to the edge of his seat. He was intrigued to learn something new about John.

“Three Continents Watson. He may not be a looker, but he’s charming as hell.”

“Oi!”

“John is very approachable and looks like someone both comfortingand comfortable. He’s a doctor, so he’s well educated and has the potential to be reasonably well-off. He holds conversation easily and has a decent sense of humour.”

John blinked at Sherlock, sure that the man had never complimented him so much at onece before.

“Do you think John’s attractive, Sherlock?”

“Physical attractiveness is very objective. It’s based on —”

“But do you —”

“Bill, why are you going on about this?” John interrupted this potentially humiliating line of questioning before it got any further out of hand.

Bill simply grinned and shrugged.

Sherlock intervened before Bill could say anything, “John, did you sleep with people from three different continents or on three different continents?”

He cleared his throat, “Both.”

Sherlock considered this new information with a nod. Maybe it would help him eventually find John’s soulmate. Who was not Sherlock. Who could not be Sherlock.

They finally moved back to planning Sarah and Bill’s first date, much to John’s relief.

After Sherlock had finished setting up all the particulars, John walked Bill out to the street. He paused on the pavement and eyed his friend. “What was that with asking if Sherlock thought I was attractive?”

“You look all… gooey eyed at him.”

“Bugger off, you dick.” He prayed that Bill was just taking the piss. If he really was looking at Sherlock like that, then the most observant man on the planet was going to know.

“He likes you too; he’s attracted to you. It sounded like he was gushing… well, not that that man can gush.”

“We don’t like each other romantically,” John said firmly.

“Sure, we’ll argue that the next time we go to the pub. I should be off.”

“Good luck with Sarah, mate.”

Bill gave him a nod before they said their goodbyes.

John decided to go for a walk to clear his head and have some time away from Sherlock. He was missing his cane, but didn’t notice until he arrived back at Baker Street.

***

The next week, John received a text from Bill telling him that the date with Sarah had been brilliant. He was really happy for Bill, but at the same time he wished that Sherlock could just find him a match so fast, like he’d done for everyone else.

John wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep pretending that he had no feelings for Sherlock. The more he thought about how much he loved Sherlock, the more he wanted to tell him, and the more he wanted to be with him. He was in deep, too deep.

He loved living at 221B; there was no way he could bring himself to leave, even (or especially) feeling the way he did. John could actually afford the rent and - even though Sherlock made a mess of the place - he wasn’t a terrible flatmate.

When he got home early from the surgery, the same day he received the text from Bill, he found a fancy, embossed card on the kitchen table. It was from Molly and Tom, telling them to save October 20th, 2012 for their wedding.

“Sherlock?” John called, reading the card and walking towards the bedroom off the kitchen.

He found the other man on his knees, bum in the air, and head in his wardrobe. John let himself admire the view. Sherlock couldn’t see him, and he needed to have little moments like this to keep himself sane.

“What do you have there?” He asked as Sherlock sat back with a box in his hand.

“My successes,” Sherlock gestured to the box as John came round to look at it.

“Wedding invitations,” John gaped as he looked into the now open box. It was nearly bursting with invitations from Sherlock’s clients. “Have you been to any of them?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed at the thought.

“We’re going to Molly’s. And you know what - I’m going to start up a blog about your successes. I’ll ring some of these for permission and put them up. I had one before when my therapist made me, so I guess I may as well put it to some better use now. It’ll probably even help business.”

“No and fine.”

“No to going but you don’t mind about the blog?”

“Correct.”

“Too bad, we’re going,” John held up the Save the Date.

“I don’t understand why we need to go.”

“It’ll be nice to see your final project. Even if you won’t say it will be.”

“I don’t need to see it to know that it succeeded.”

“We’re going,” John said as he left Sherlock sitting on the floor.

There had to be a reason, other than gloating over his successes, that Sherlock would keep those invitations. Sherlock had to feel something, some kind of pride from making all of these people happy. John couldn’t see any way the man could go on doing something for years and not get some fulfilment from it.


	11. John's Third Potential Match

“I’m dying,” Sherlock moaned from his bed.  
  
John popped his head in to see him curled up under his duvet, only dark curls sticking out.  
  
“Are you sure you’re going to be all right tonight?” He asked; the man was in rough shape. It was a strange sight. Sherlock was always so polished, even when he was causing messes or lounging about.  
  
“I may be dead when you return home, but go on your date. There’s nothing you could do to save me if you stay here.”  
  
Sherlock was apparently dying from  ‘flu, at least in his own mind, and he would not shut his mouth about it. The only peace John had was when the world’s most annoying invalid was asleep. Fortunately, he was sleeping a lot.  
  
“You’re so dramatic,” John rolled his eyes.

 

“This one is your match; I don’t need you to stand around and watch me suffer.”  
  
“Better be.”  
  
Before he’d come down with the flu yesterday, Sherlock had set John up with a bloke named Jason.

> _“John, have you considered the possibility that you may be able to settle down with a man?”_   
>    
>  _At this, John’s stomach did an odd series of flips that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was still desperately in love with Sherlock.  Because he most decidedly was not in love with Sherlock. “Ah, what do you mean?”_   
>    
>  _“You stopped dating men because you’re looking to settle down. Are you bisexual but heteroromantic?”_   
>    
>  _John furrowed his brow, “I don’t think so.” He’d never thought much about it. In his life he had never been in love with a man; he’d liked some plenty enough but had never really fallen in love. He was definitely in something with Sherlock… If it wasn’t love, then he wasn’t sure what it was. It was rather terrifying: it felt more powerful than anything he had ever felt for anyone._   
>    
>  _“Very well then: I may have your match,” Sherlock declared. “His name is Jason. The only thing I ask is that if you do marry, or whatever it is same sex partners do, and adopt children, do not name them with ‘J’ names.”_   
>    
>  _John snickered, “I promise, I won’t.”_

John actually prayed that night that Jason was going to be ‘the one’. He wanted butterflies and skipping heartbeats and gazing into each others’ eyes all that mushy stuff that Sherlock scoffed at. He wanted one look at this bloke to banish all the pinning he was doing for his dick of a flatmate. His life would be so easy then.  
  
He was fairly certain that Sherlock had no idea John was hiding these ridiculous feelings. Nothing had changed between them. John was just making more of a point not to spend so much time alone with him. Obviously a good chunk of their lives were spent together, but John was really trying his best to go out with his other mates.  
  
Bill was a busy man since Sherlock seemed to have created another match made in heaven between him and Sarah. Still, there were the other lads, and he was working a little harder to meet up with colleagues.  
  
“I’m off; don’t forget to drink some water. I don’t need you dehydrating on me, yeah?”  
  
Sherlock just grumbled, and John rolled his eyes.  
  
You’d think that living with a man who acted like a twat so much of the time would turn John off from wanting to spend any more time with him, but it didn’t. Sometimes, his moods were even endearing. It didn’t make sense. The whole thing was bloody stupid.  
  
When he got to the Italian restaurant Sherlock had suggested for their date, John was met by a tall, dark, and handsome man. Great, Sherlock knew his physical type for men and it was basically Sherlock. This Jason wasn’t as handsome as Sherlock, but he wasn’t anyone John would kick out of bed either.  
  
Jason was nice enough, but there just was not an easy flow of conversation. John knew he was partly to blame: he was feeling quite tired. Maybe a little feverish, too.  
  
Great, he was getting Sherlock’s flu.  
  
John hoped that their conversation would pick up and he would feel a bit better as they walked to the exhibition of WWII photography just a few minutes’ walk from their restaurant. Being a doctor, he really should have known better and noticed himself getting progressively worse as dinner went on. He really should have just made a raincheck with Jason and hoped the second time would go a bit smoother.  
  
“I love history,” Jason let out a dreamy sigh.  
  
John heard the voice in his head that sounded alarmingly like Sherlock say, ‘Obviously. He was a history professor.’  
  
“Personally I’m more interested in the Renaissance but —”  
  
All of a sudden, John was overtaken with the urge to get sick. He felt hot and cold all at once and the world went a bit fuzzy at the edges.  
  
Then he vomited. All over his and Jason’s shoes.  
  
“Oh my god! Disgusting!”  
  
“Sorry; I’m so sorry,” John cleared his throat. “Do you think you could grab me a cab?”  
  
“Sure, but are you going to pay for my shoes?”  
  
John couldn’t muster the energy even to give Jason an annoyed look. Instead, he leaned against the lamppost and got sick again.  
  
There was certainly not going to be a second date.

***

While John was out on his date, Sherlock drifted in and out of consciousness.  
  
He hated being sick; his brain moved at a snail’s pace, and he didn’t want to do anything but sleep. He never got sick. He blamed John. It was always John’s fault.  
  
It was John’s fault that he was sick. John’s fault that he had to keep his experiments tidied in the kitchen. John’s fault that he was made to go to the shops at least once a month and do the dishes. John’s fault that Sherlock enjoyed being friends with him. John’s fault that Sherlock couldn’t figure out why the army doctor was so frequently forgetting about his limp. It was even John’s fault that Sherlock couldn’t find a match for him. It was John’s fault that Sherlock’s sex drive had suddenly peaked again. That had not happened since Victor was around, and even then it would come and go.  
  
All he wanted was a nice, hard shag with John and only John. He’d gone out one night a few weeks back but found himself unaccountably unable to go through with it when he’d tried to ‘get a leg over’ as John was so fond of saying. Whenever they were home and John was doing something particularly alluring (which was basically anything) Sherlock just wanted to jump on top of him. It was absolutely maddening.  
  
John felt the sexual tension as well, it seemed. Maybe they could just shag and get it over with. That would be a nice, easy solution, but Sherlock had a feeling that John would reject the idea straight away.  
  
Sometime after John had gone off on his date, Sherlock woke up to the sound of retching coming from the loo. He wondered if he was having another of those terribly ridiculous fever dreams he kept having. The brain was really capable of very strange things.  
  
Sherlock forced himself out of bed and opened the door to find John curled up on his side on the tile floor.  
  
“You gave me your ‘flu,” John mumbled.  
  
“You should get up. You’re going to be in a lot of pain later on if you don’t. You’re resting on your bad shoulder.”  
  
“My room is too far away,, and there’s too many stairs,” John yawned as he sat up carefully.  
  
Sherlock looked back through the door behind him. “You can sleep in my room.”  
  
“Where will you sleep?”  
  
“On the other side of the bed. We’ve done it before.” (And then Sherlock had woken up wrapped around John, but that would definitely not be happening again.)  
  
“I need clothes.”  
  
“Borrow mine.”  
  
John closed his eyes for a moment, and Sherlock thought that he had fallen asleep.  
  
“Fine, ok.” John slowly got to his feet, picking up the small bin before straightening all the way up. “I hate you for this.”  
  
“No, I hate you. Surely, you carried some virus home with you from the surgery.” He shuffled back into his bedroom, headed to look for pyjamas for John. “I can’t remember the last time I was this ill.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” John said as Sherlock clothes at him.  
  
Sherlock crawled into bed and huddled under the duvet. He was fast asleep before John had even made it into bed.

***

The next time he woke, it was morning and John was already sitting up drinking water. He looked about as bad as Sherlock felt: as if he’d been run over by a train.  
  
“My fever is out of control,” John laid back down with a groan but flung his hand over to feel Sherlock’s forehead.  
  
“Mmm, I’ve still got one, but it’s not as bad as before,” he said as John removed his clammy hand.  
  
“Your head isn’t as warm as yesterday. Do you feel any better?”  
  
“No.”  
  
John just hummed and snuggled into the pillow.  
  
“Your date ended… not well, I take it. I’m not sure how long you were gone, but it couldn’t have been very good.”  
  
“It was bloody awful. He was boring, Sherlock.”  
  
Sherlock was sure that Jason would have been It. John was the most difficult person to match he’d ever encountered. He was very tempted to give up, but he rather liked the challenge. It was just frustrating that he’d never had to try more than twice for anyone else. It had to be because he wanted to sleep with John.  
  
“I’m starting to wonder if you are completely unmatchable.” Sherlock reached over for his laptop. He was finally feeling lucid enough to look at the screen for at five minutes to check his email. The day and a half before, he would have been too muddled and exhausted even to try.  
  
“Correction: you absolutely are unmatchable,” Sherlock declared as he logged in to his email.  
  
“I think you’re right,” John looked around the room. “You don’t have a telly in here?”  
  
“Of course not.” He skimmed an email asking about his services. He wasn’t interested in casual enquiries; he wasn’t really interested in much but staying in bed for at least another day.  
  
“You’re so boring.”  
  
“I only sleep in here. I barely watch telly as it is, anyway.”  
  
“You watch telly with me.”  
  
Ah, yes another thing that was John’s fault. “Only because there’s nothing else to do.”  
  
“You’ve stopped experiments to watch a show or two,” John laughed, hugging the pillow under his head.  
  
Sherlock scoffed but had to admit (not out loud, of course) that he had done that; he rather liked Qi.  
  
“I should go back to my room,” John said with his eyes closed.  
  
“Yes, it certainly looks like you’re making the effort.” Sherlock navigated to John’s blog to see the entry he had posted the day before. It was on Angelo and his wife. John was acting like a journalist in his spare time, going round and chatting with people Sherlock had set up in relationships and doing a little write up. It was all overly romantic and terribly written and Sherlock hated it.  
  
But at the same time, Sherlock enjoyed that John had taken so much interest in his work. He wondered what it would have been like if he’d been a matchmaker when Victor was still alive, if Victor would have taken so much interest in his work. Probably - they’d been a perfect match. This line of though led off into ruminations of how John would have loved his former business. Obviously, John would have loved the loved danger and excitement of detective work; he never really got to indulge himself in that any longer.  
  
Sherlock wasn’t sure why he cared if John would have been interested in solving crimes; it didn’t matter, he supposed. There was no way he could have been with John if he’d still been working on cases. He would have been living with Victor and working with Victor and still in love with Victor. John wouldn’t have been even a blip on his radar.  
  
John was important to him now, it seemed. He fit neatly and perfectly into Sherlock’s life just as Victor had. He enjoyed being with John just as much as he’d enjoyed being with Victor. The more he thought about it, the more he realised  he didn’t want a life without John Watson now that he was there. That was especially frightening after losing Victor and being hurt so much that he’d lost years of his life and the career that he always dreamed of. He couldn’t let that happen to himself again.  
  
“Are you all right? You look like you’re going to be sick again. You can have my bin.”  
  
Sherlock shook his head, “I’m fine.” He shut his laptop and set it on the bedside table before rolling onto his side, his back to John.  
  
He was nauseated again, but he was sure that it wasn’t because of the ‘flu. He needed to find John a match quickly.  
  
“I’m not doing too well. I’m just going to stay here for a little longer, and then I’ll get out of your hair.” John cleared his throat.  
  
Sherlock didn’t say a thing; he was too busy trying to think of the best possible match for John. He had to be missing something.


	12. So Close, You Just Can't See It

_This part of the chapter is not told from either Sherlock or John’s POV because that would be far too unreliable seeing how absolutely pissed they become. This is told by the fly on the wall, who did not black out halfway into the night._  
  
John and Sherlock were invited out to the pub with Bill to celebrate Sherlock’s matching him with Sarah. Their relationship was going strong - two months in and they both wanted to thank John and Sherlock for it.  
  
Of course, Sherlock hated dealing with other people in social situations and told John so quite vehemently. He’d enough of that in Uni, when Victor would turn those sad eyes on him and use that particular voice and convince him to go out to some classmate’s party. He’d made it through those by getting high, but he couldn’t do that now. Mycroft would undoubtedly know and make him take some sort of tedious drug test. John would certainly suspect something, even more than Victor ever had. So Sherlock decided, before walking out the door, that he was going to get absolutely wasted in order to dull the pain of dealing with the most boring people.  
  
He should have just left before John forced him to leave for the pub, but he wanted to see John in a different environment and watch how he interacted with his friends. Maybe, just maybe, it would give him a bit more insight into the man. It could lead to understanding why John didn’t limp so often now and also perhaps to finding John’s perfect match.  
  
It could even lead to John’s attention fixating on someone else, which Sherlock believed might stop his own feelings. He hoped. He didn’t want to lose John completely, but he needed that separation so he wouldn’t have to deal with all these unwanted feelings.  
  
John was also hoping Sherlock would find him a match soon so he could stop all the ridiculous pining. He was sure Sherlock knew all about how much he wanted to snog him and lay about in bed with him and spend every hour of every day with him.  
  
Sherlock did not know about the pining. He assumed that John wanted to shag him but didn’t actually want anything else with him. They danced around one another in a strange ballet. Everyone could see that they were interested in one another, everyone except John and Sherlock. Then again, everyone knew to begin with that they were meant to be…  
  
“Sherlock! John!”  
  
The two were met by Molly running over as they entered the pub. Her presence was a surprise, but a happy surprise. At least for John.  
  
“Molly, what are you doing here?”  
  
“Tom’s birthday!” She pointed over to him and his mates, who were all clustered by the bar. Bill, Sarah, and the other men and their wives or girlfriends were sitting in a booth close by.  
  
“Lovely,” Sherlock muttered. More people for him to deal with.  
  
John was genuinely happy to see Molly and Tom. He liked Molly; she was a little strange, but that made her all the more interesting.  
  
“We’re here to see my friend Bill, another one Sherlock matched,” John explained.  
  
“Brilliant! I want to buy you a drink.” Molly pulled them both over to the bar and ordered a round of shots.  
  
Once they’d had two shots each and John introduced himself to Tom, they joined Bill and the others.  
  
Nothing very remarkable happened at the pub, aside from the fact that eventually the groups merged into one and they were all ordering Sherlock and John drinks to celebrate Sherlock’s brilliance.  
  
“If you’re so bloody great, why can’t you find Johnny a match?” Mark asked Sherlock, giving him a very critical look.  
  
“Because he’s unmatchable. Impossible. He has this… this side to him that he keeps hidden from me, from everyone, it’s his own fault.” Sherlock looked over at John, who was in the middle of a lively discussion about rugby with Tom and Bill. “He also limps sometimes but then he doesn’t. It makes no sense. He doesn’t even understand it.”  
  
Mark threw his head back in a loud laugh. “What if the match for John is so close you can’t even see it?”  
  
Sherlock furrowed his brow. “Bill? No, he’s straight. Sarah is the one for Bill, anyway.”  
  
Mark shook his head in disbelief. This was the man everyone went on and on about being so brilliant? “Want another drink, mate?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged: why not? He was (for once) enjoying the vaguely tipsy feeling. Normally he hated being drunk but for some reason he was having… fun.  
  
John was having a blast, watching Sherlock being social and not looking like he was in too much pain doing so. After a few more drinks, Tom and Molly’s crowd were all going to another place to see a band and Bill and the others were all calling it quits. Sherlock and John decided to go back to 221B and continue having their own little party.  
  
They struggled getting up the stairs to their flat and fell over one another multiple times, giggling all the way up. John mentioned that they’d probably woken Mrs Hudson, but that was ridiculous because it wasn’t even near late enough for her to be asleep. It was barely nine.  
  
John had left his cane behind at the bar. In fact, he’d stopped using it nearly as soon as they got there. He hadn’t even really needed it all day, but he still took it everywhere more out of habit than anything else.   
  
Sherlock hadn’t noticed it at the time. If he had, he would have finally figured out John’s match. Maybe. Actually probably not because he was completely dense on that subject.  
  
Once in the flat, John got a bottle of scotch out and declared they should play  ‘Who Am I’ as a game to it would test Sherlock’s ability to deduce when intoxicated. He had to explain the rules to Sherlock, who declared it boring even in his highly pissed state but agreed to play as there was nothing better to do.  
  
Sherlock wrote ‘Madonna’ on John’s sticky note as she’d been mentioned in the paper on his desk. John wrote ‘Sherlock’ because that was the only person he could think of at the moment. At any moment, really. The game went all right until Sherlock admitted that he’d  no idea if John was a pretty lady because he’d no clue who the name on the note actually referred to.  
  
Eventually, they’d drunk so much scotch that John was having trouble remaining upright in his chair.  He started to fall forward, only to catch himself with a  hand on Sherlock’s knee.  They both gazed blearily at the appendage for a moment, both of their (quite drunk) brains realising that this was perhaps a bit beyond the realm of normal behaviour for two male, platonic, definitely not shagging friends.  However, John simply shrugged and slurred, “I don’t mind.”   
  
And Sherlock replied with, “We should shag.”  
  
“What, now?” John squinted at him, licking his lips.  
  
“There’s this… sexual tension between us. We can rid ourselves of it, if we have sex. Just once and then we’re done.”  
  
John, being completely and utterly pissed, thought that sounded like a good idea.. “Sure,” he said and then immediately had a lap full of Sherlock. He very much liked having a lap full of Sherlock.  
  
“Jesus,” John chuckled against Sherlock’s lips. “Right to the point.”  
  
“Better that way.” Sherlock pressed his lips to John’s.  
  
It really wasn’t better that way or any way (even though it was so very, very good) really, because - no matter what - sleeping together was absolutely going to lead to disaster. Sherlock didn’t want to be in a relationship, and John did.  
  
None of that was registering at the moment, though, as Sherlock rocked up against John and John grabbed two exquisite handfuls of impeccably clad arse and Sherlock made that little keening noise in the back of his throat, nibbling at John’s bottom lip. That was the last thing Sherlock, really remembered. There were some bits and pieces after, but it was rather choppy.  
  
A moment later, just as John pushed Sherlock back on to his own chair and moved to climb on top of him, Tessa walked into their flat.  
  
“Client?” Sherlock cocked his head to the side.  
  
“Um, which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?”  
  
John whistled as he pointed to the note still attached to Sherlock’s forehead. And that was the last moment John remembered fully.  
  
“What can we help you with?” John moved to sit on the sofa, pulling his chair behind him.  
  
Sherlock joined him and Tessa gingerly took a seat in the chair, after moving it so it was actually facing the men rather than the opposite direction.  
  
“Oh, so, I know you don’t solve crimes anymore but I thought maybe you could help me because this might involve romance as well, um… this is strange…” She went on to explain that she’d had a fantastic date, but it’d ended up being with a ghost. The man of her dreams disappeared and she found out the man who really lived at the flat she’d been to had died a week before.  
  
Normally, Sherlock would have stopped her immediately and told her in no uncertain terms that he had no interest in crime anymore, but… the alcohol currently drowning every last one of his brain cells told Tessa that, yes, of course he’d look into it for her. Using the guise it being her potential match, it was easier for Sherlock to take it.  
  
“Can you show me the… ah… where he lived?”  
  
“Sure.”   
  
Tessa was a bit of an airhead. She should have realised the Consulting Matchmaker and his, er, companion were thoroughly plastered, but she got in a cab with them anyway. She should have waited until the next day (or maybe even the day after that) to let them sober up and get over their hangovers. She should have done a lot of things.  But she was painfully in love with this ghost man and believed Sherlock Holmes, former consulting detective and current consulting matchmaker, to be the only person in the world who find him for her and make all her problems go away.  
  
Most times, she would be right and Sherlock Holmes would be the obvious answer, but this was one of the very few times when he was not.  
  
When they arrived at the ghost man’s flat, Tessa somehow managed to convince the landlord to let them so Sherlock could look around. Sherlock managed to stumble about the room in a reasonable approximation of his usual meticulous data-gathering methods, while John nearly fell asleep propped against the pillar in the middle of the living area.  
  
Obviously, Sherlock gleaned nothing of any use from the room because objects wouldn’t stay put as they were supposed but kept swimming about in his vision or deciding to multiply and become two where he was certain there had only been one. But John was still behaving himself, propped against that column over there.  There was only one of him and he was mostly staying put.  Sherlock rather liked the view of John like that, the only stable thing in a whole flat defying the laws of physics.  He didn’t enjoy the view too long before getting sick all over the rug, at which point the police were called.

***

When Sherlock woke, he was lying on something hard. He was definitely not in his bedroom or on the sofa, not in 221B at all, in fact.  
  
“GOOD MORNING!”  
  
He jumped and fell off whatever it was he was sleeping on when Lestrade yelled. It probably would have hurt if his whole body didn’t already ache as it was.  
  
They were in a holding cell. It had been a very long time since he’d seen one of those; he almost missed it.  
  
“Could you not yell?” John asked. His voice sounded like he’d gargled gravel.  
  
“NOT REALLY!” Lestrade was being even more annoying than usual.  
  
Sherlock managed to get himself off the floor without any help. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in such rough shape; it was almost comparable to withdrawal. At least the hangover would go away in a few hours. At most it would be over by the next morning.  
  
“What even happened to get us here?” John questioned.  
  
“Don’t remember?” Lestrade scoffed at John’s inquiry. “A woman named Tessa had you brought in here. She left her number. If I were you, and thank god I’m not, I’d give her a ring, see if she can fill in any of those bits you might be missing. Seems Sherlock here was sick all over some bloke’s apartment. Something about a case. I thought you stopped solving those, or was it just me you didn’t  want to consult with?”  
  
“I stopped,” Sherlock said firmly.   
  
He vaguely remembered the case had something to do a ghost and how the ghost was her match… He was going to have to contact this Tessa woman. Just to make sure that he wasn’t going mad and making it up. Maybe he’d solve it as well - it could be a match. It could be interesting too. He’d been unbelievably bored recently.  
  
“I don’t remember that at all. I don’t even remember leaving Baker Street once we got back from the bar.” John blinked blearily against the overhead lights and licked his lips.  
  
Hmm, John’s lips… Oh, bloody hell. He and John snogged last night and there was groping and rutting and Sherlock wanted to do it all again. It was his idea to shag in the first place. He was fairly sure they hadn’t actually shagged, but he’d put it out there. How much of the night did John remember? This could be a problem.  
  
John might think that Sherlock actually wanted to be with him, like that… like he’d been with Victor.  
  
“You don’t have to worry about anything: Mycroft took care of it all.”  
  
“Of course he did.” Sherlock buttoned his jacket. Mycroft was always taking care of things, had done since Sherlock was a child. “Did you see him when he stopped in to do that?”  
  
Lestrade rolled his eyes. “You really should get home and take care of yourselves. I’ve work to do.”  
  
“Hope you and Mycroft arranged a dinner date.” Sherlock quipped before he and John went to retrieve their personal belongings from the desk sergeant.  
  
The whole cab ride home was spent observing John. He wasn’t showing any sign of remembering their activities of the previous evening (such as the kissing and the grinding and all those lovely other bits and pieces that occurred), and if he did remember, he didn’t show any sign of wanting to revisit it. Sherlock tried not to dwell on it, but he spent half the trip home watching John’s lips before deciding to send Tessa a text about the case. He needed something to occupy him, and this was probably the best way to go about it. Surely the case of the mysterious disappearing suitor couldn’t be present too much danger, so there’d be no threat to John. Tessa agreed to meet him for lunch.

***

When John woke up from a kip, he was feeling a bit better but the hangover was still lingering. The memories from the night before were all blurry and jumbled but he knew for a fact that he and Sherlock had almost had sex, apparently to get rid of the sexual tension. They hadn’t actually had sex, John was pretty sure, but they had snogged like drunken teenagers.   
  
That would have been great if he could actually bring himself to discuss it with Sherlock. It was news to him that Sherlock wanted him in any way. He’d just assumed the man wanted nothing to do with anyone in any type of relationship. Sherlock had commented so many times that it was bad enough being friends with John.  
  
Just knowing that Sherlock wanted to shag him was likely going to be too much to handle. Luckily for him, the matchmaker wasn’t anywhere to be found when he got downstairs. There was no sign that he had slept or eaten when they got home a few hours earlier. John’s laptop was open though, to some page about dating ghosts.  
  
It looked like Sherlock was interested in solving more than just Tessa’s match. That was interesting.  
  
On top of that, John needed to find where on earth he’d left his cane.


	13. The Last Attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! This chapter is currently unbetaed/unbritpicked

John only saw Sherlock for about five minutes at a time in the few days following The Snogging Incident. The man was artful in avoiding John, it seemed. Of course, Sherlock probably knew every single one of John’s move before John actually thought about doing whatever it was.  
  
Sherlock said he was working on finding Tessa a match, but there was obviously more to it than that because he didn’t ask John to join in on the matchmaking, like he had for months now. Or possibly Sherlock just didn’t want to talk about what had happened. John felt like there was something more going on though.  
  
“John Watson?” He heard a familiar voice say as he walked back to 221B from Baker Street station.  
  
“Hi, Lestrade. All right?” He stopped.  
  
“All right. I was just leaving your flat, actually.”  
  
John raised an eyebrow. He thought he got Lestrade out of the habit of stopping by to pester Sherlock.  
  
“Ha, no, not for what you’re thinking of. He was the one that came to talk to me in the first place. I was just finishing up with paper work with him. Care for a pint? I’ll explain it to you.”  
  
John considered it. His leg had been in agony the last few days for some godforsaken reason John couldn’t figure out but he also wasn’t sure if he wanted to go home to be uncomfortable with Sherlock. He was really interested in what Sherlock had been getting up to the last few days and had a feeling that the matchmaker wouldn’t tell him the whole truth.  
  
“Sure, why not.”  
  
“Brilliant.” The Detective Inspector grinned.  
  
They went to John’s local and settled into a table before Greg went on to tell John all about a murder Sherlock solved thanks to Tessa’s “ghost story”.   
  
It happened to be of a rather famous Major who fought in Afghanistan. John had actually encountered the man a few times over there. The Major and his company, a bunch of fresh faced kids, were involved in a pretty tough firefight and was the only one who made it out alive. He was deeply hated by the victim’s families.   
  
Greg said it was a family member of one of the victims that carried out the murder — at a wedding nonetheless. Sherlock didn’t solve it in time but he put the pieces together, somehow in order to find the murderer. It also included some tower guard as well, John was going to have to ask Sherlock about the whole thing.  
  
“He’s so good. It’s just a pity he won’t do it all the time. The prick must have mentioned ten times that this was just a coincidence and he wasn’t interested in solving anything else.”  
  
John frowned. He had wondered how much Sherlock really loved criminal investigations. Sherlock was so smart, he was really wasted in the matchmaking field. Sure, Sherlock made people happy but he didn’t seem to care about that most of the time.   
  
Sherlock liked to think. It didn’t seem like he got to think very deep while matching. Yes, it was a puzzle but it wasn’t as exciting as crime. Sherlock did hate being bored, which he was a lot.  
  
“It just hurts too much for him, I’d say.” John explained.  
  
“Mmm, I know, his old boyfriend. He just couldn’t cope with the whole thing. To be honest, when you came along, I was hoping that he was sort of moving past it. I thought he would get back to doing what he actually loves.”  
  
“Was he better at solving murders than he is a setting people up?”  
  
“It’s probably a tie but I’d personally rather him solving murders. But that’s me being selfish, probably.”  
  
John chuckled before taking a sip of his lager. “On my end, I think he’s probably better at the murder solving thing. Not that I’ve seen him do so.”  
  
“Can’t find you a match, eh?”  
  
“Nope. Three failed attempts.”  
  
“I think he’s got someone for you, looks really hopeful to me.”  
  
“What?” Great, did Sherlock find him the murderer’s sister for a future wife?  
  
“Detective Sergeant Morstan, she recently joined the team. She was originally out in Manchester but moved here for one reason or another. Sherlock was asking her all those questions he does when he’s assessing people and he said something about how you’d probably like to take her to dinner.”  
  
John scoffed because Sherlock was ridiculous.  
  
“Hope it works out for you.”  
  
“Yeah, you trust his judgement but you won’t divorce your wife and see the elder Holmes brother?” He ribbed the other man.  
  
Greg’s cheeks flushed.  
  
“No!” John thought, possibly, that Sherlock always made those comments to just bother both the men.  
  
“We’re in the process of a divorce.”  
  
“And Mycroft…”  
  
“I might have seen him a few days ago and we made plans.”  
  
“Bloody hell,” John shook his head.  
  
“I can’t believe he hasn’t matched you yet. He matches everyone in a blink of an eye. Christ, maybe he loves you.”  
  
It was John’s turn to blush.  
  
Greg let out a loud laugh, “You love him.”  
  
“No.” John said firmly.  
  
“You’re lying, you love him. Maybe it’s throwing him off… or, if neither of you two idiots have thought of this, you both have feelings for each other. Maybe you’re his match!”  
  
“He’s sure that he had a perfect match with Victor.”  
  
“Sherlock doesn’t believe in soul mates or one love in your lifetime shite. He’s just afraid of getting hurt.” Greg said. “He’s brilliant but also completely daft at the same time. You just need to point him in the right direction.”  
  
John shook his head.  
  
“Whatever you do, don’t marry someone you don’t really love. If you can’t compare them to Sherlock, then what’s the point?”  
  
“I never said—”  
  
Greg just shrugged, “Sherlock mentioned you like rugby.”  
  
John felt relieved at the change of subject. “I do.”  
  
“Good, let’s talk about that, shall we?”

***

When John got back to the flat he found Sherlock folded into his arm chair, watching crap telly. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and he probably hadn’t had much to eat, either. John noticed only small bits of leftovers missing that he set aside for the matchmaker.  
  
He was almost happy to see Sherlock to hear about his potential match. Maybe it would set everything right with Sherlock and John. He was really missing their friendship over the last few days.   
  
“You were with Lestrade? Are you mates now? That honestly wouldn’t surprise me if you were.” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and titled his head to the side after setting his eyes on John.  
  
John shrugged, “He’s a good bloke. We’re going to get together for a pint again next week.”  
  
Sherlock just nodded.  
  
“He told me about the case you solved, good on you.”  
  
“It was simple.”  
  
“Didn’t sound it. Are you doing that now? Cases?” John sat down, leaning his cane against the side of his chair.  
  
“No,” Sherlock said quickly. “I have no more real interest in it.”  
  
John knew he was lying through his teeth.  
  
“I found you, your match. I’m sure Lestrade told you all about it because you’re mates now.” Sherlock almost sounded mad.  
  
“He did… are you angry we’re mates now?”  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
“Right. Anyway, I know her name is Mary and she works with Scotland Yard?”  
  
“So they say but I believe she is actually SIS.”  
  
John gaped, “What?”  
  
“I thought you’d find her interesting.”  
  
“I doubt she’d actually talk about it with me.”  
  
“I suspect she’s looking into some supposed activity with some members of the Yard and an international human trafficking ring, which has ties to some terrorist organization.”  
  
“How do you know about this?” John asked.  
  
“Mycroft wanted me help on it.”  
  
“How do you know she’s with SIS?”  
  
“I deduced it.”  
  
John shook his head in disbelief, “How am I supposed to date her while knowing this? She’s undercover.”  
  
“Don’t mention it.”  
  
“I can’t not mention it.” He threw his hands up in the air.  
  
“Just go on one date with her.”  
  
John frowned, “Fine, if you’re so convinced.”  
  
“She’s the one.” The other man sounded so positive, John felt like he needed to give it a chance.  
  
“Ok, all right. I’ll give it a go.”  
  
Sherlock nodded and gave John of Mary’s information and thoughts on a first date (somewhere outside, active and then dinner somewhere laid-back).  
  
After taking in all the information Sherlock gave him there were a few quiet moments John thought of bring up the kissing he remembered from the other night. Of course, John didn’t have the bollocks to actually ask Sherlock about it, so he just suppressed it, like he did with most thoughts or feelings about anything intimate with Sherlock.  
  
“Have you had dinner?” It was just better to stick with safe subjects.  
  
“Not hungry.”  
  
“I doubt you ate when you’ve been running about the last few days.”  
  
Sherlock shrugged.  
  
John suddenly realized how sad the other man looked. “Are you all right?”  
  
“Of course.” Sherlock uncurled himself from the chair and sat up straight, like he was training to regain his usual controlled demeanor. “I’m fine.”  
  
“You’re lying.”  
  
“I am not. I was… never mind.”  
  
“Just tell me.”  
  
“I was just thinking of Victor.” Sherlock ducked his head. “The case.”  
  
“Oh, right, um, I’m sorry.”  
  
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He stood up.  
  
“Where you going?”  
  
“Out.”  
  
“Where?” John pressed.  
  
“For air. Text Mary in the morning, her number is on the kitchen table.” Sherlock said before practically dashing out the door.  
  
The doctor let out a long sigh, not knowing what to do about Sherlock’s reaction. Clearly the case dug up those horrible memories of when Sherlock lost his match. John hoped that it would not trigger Sherlock’s past drug habits, he was going to have to watch out for that.

***

Sherlock forgot the high he felt after solving a case. It reminded him of the feeling he got when John threw him over his shoulder. Why did it remind him of that? When they were wrestling around on the floor, he was so — happy and relaxed and so many other emotions that he had not felt in so long. He wanted to feel like that over and over again. There were only two possible way for him to do that and that was to either be with John or to start solving cases again.  
  
Neither of which seemed like a good thing to do because each possibility brought up thoughts about Victor. Sherlock had done so well not to dwell on missing Victor constantly. He spent three years living in misery following the death of Victor, he didn’t want to do that all over again by falling into solving cases and/or falling for John Watson even if he wanted to do both of those things more than anything in his life since Victor. Well, he wanted drugs probably just as much so clearly having John and solving cases were bad for him as well.  
  
At least he found a match for John. If it worked out with John and Mary he would see less of John around the flat. That was good and bad at the same time but he knew that in the end it would be for the best.  
  
No matter what was going to happen with Mary, Sherlock decided that it was going to be the last attempt to match John. Maybe the man was unmatchable, there had to be someone out there who was not met to find someone. John could possibly be that person. He almost hoped that he was wrong because John loathed being lonely.  
  
Two hours into his walk he felt exhausted, the post case crash that he had forgot about. The crash was never as fun as the high. He decided to go home.

***

“He’s mad!” Mary chuckled as the sat in a pub not very far from 221B.   
  
John had just told her the story of when Sherlock pretended to be a mourner at a funeral because he deduced the son of the dead man would be a match for a client that he had.  
  
They were on their second date in three days and John was fairly certain that Sherlock had actually found his match. Mary was perfect. She was funny, brilliant, charming, and there was a little bit of danger lurking beneath her unassuming surface. There was only one thing wrong, he was still thinking about Sherlock all the time. He couldn’t even stop himself from talking about him. She didn’t seem to mind though. Also, the other tiny thing of her being an an undercover agent for SIS was a potential issue as well.  
  
“I can’t believe he’s an actual human being, it’s amazing. I never seen someone like him before in the field.”  
  
John chuckled.  
  
“He knows about me, right? He told you, I would bet.”  
  
“I’m not sure what you mean.” He tried to lie. If Mary was as good as Sherlock about knowing when he was lying, then she was going to be able to spot it right away.  
  
“Oh, you’re a horrid liar.” She shook her head.  
  
“If I don’t know about you, what would you do?”  
  
“Kill you.” She said with a completely straight face but a second after she smiled. “I’m kidding. He told you why I’m working for Scotland Yard.”  
  
“Yeah the international human trafficking thing…” He dropped his voice and leaned closer to her so no one around them could hear.  
  
She raised an eyebrow. “He’s going to cost me, my job.”  
  
“His brother is your boss. If it’s true, I mean. I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first he had to fix something Sherlock ruined. Actually, I know it’s not the first time.” John laughed before taking a sip of his lager.  
  
“I could tell he was a troublemaker when he was on that case.”  
  
“Sorry he broke your cover.”  
  
“At least Mr Holmes would know that it’s his brother’s fault.” Mary shook her head. “So, John Watson, what do you say about another date? I’m going to have to keep an eye on you, now that you know who I am.”  
  
“I would say, absolutely.”  
  
“Fantastic.”  
  
“Technically I don’t really know who you really are.”  
  
“Would you like to know? Well, what I can tell you at least?”  
  
John nodded. He should have been worried that he could never really know that true Mary but he didn’t care because she was much too interesting.


	14. There's Something About Mary: An Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is currently unbetaed/unbritpicked

Sherlock was curled up in the fetal position on the sofa. Sherlock hadn’t picked up a client in a week but was sure that he was going to die from boredom in no time.  
  
“You’re living in squalor,” Mycroft made a taking noise. “I was hoping John would make sure that would never happen again.”  
  
“John hasn’t been in the flat for more than an hour in two weeks. It’s always to gather something he needs. He’s living at Mary’s unofficially.” It had been only three months since they began seeing one another and to Sherlock it seemed fast for them to be living together. But what did Sherlock really know about that? He was living with Victor as a roommate from the start of his first year at Uni and they were inseparable from then on.  
  
John was in love with her and they were going to be another success story for Sherlock Holmes, the matchmaker. They hit it off so fast though, it wasn’t expected to Sherlock. He assumed it would move as it moved with Sarah, just a bit smoother because they were more compatible. John didn’t come off as the type to quickly fall in love and move in, in weeks.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Sherlock rolled over to glare at Mycroft, to find his brother actually frowning.  
  
“Why are you looking at me like that? Is that… sympathy? Are you mocking me?”  
  
“I am not mocking you. You’re sad and I’m sorry that you are. I know you don’t believe me but I dislike seeing you suffer.”  
  
“I am not sad.” Sherlock sprung to his feet.  
  
“You’re showing all the obvious signs of depression. No interest in usual activities, for instance. When was the last time you did an experiment or worked? I know you better than you know yourself, little brother.”  
  
He just glared at Mycroft.  
  
“You need to admit to yourself, what John means to you.”  
  
“Coming from the man, that refused to listen to me about Lestrade.”  
  
“I listened to you, it just took sometime. I know what its like to be lonely. I was stubborn because I thought work was far more important than personal happiness and I now know that I’m wrong… for the most part because work is rather important but that’s not the point. You’re just afraid of getting hurt once again.”  
  
Sherlock clenched his teeth.   
  
“I’m fairly sure you’re hurting yourself even more by not admitting that you love him.”  
  
“Since you began dating Lestrade, have you become an expert on relationships?” Sherlock snapped at his brother. “I am fine.”  
  
Mycroft shook his head, “I know you’re very good at lying to John but I know you better than him.”  
  
The Matchmaker stayed silent because his brother was right.  
  
“I’m just concerned about you.” Mycroft said. “You realize John is limping more, now that he’s with Mary. That’s curious isn’t it?”  
  
Sherlock furrowed his brow, “I’m not sure if it is.”  
  
“You’re getting slow with your deductions. You should really get back detective work. I fear that you’re actually loosing brain cells.”  
  
He just cast another glare at his brother.

***

Meanwhile, over at Mary’s flat, “I think there’s going to be a break in my case soon.” Mary said from the bed as John was shaving.  
  
“Really now?” John poked his head out to find Mary sitting on the bed, looking over her tablet.  
  
“Yes.” She smiled widely.  
  
“So, what does that mean for you? I mean, that’s bloody brilliant. You’re bloody brilliant. But what now…”  
  
She frowned, “I don’t know. It depends on what they want me to do. I’m sure with your connections, you could come with me whenever I go.”  
  
John wiped his face, “Would it be dangerous?”  
  
“Maybe.” She cocked her head to the side with a grin.  
  
“I heard from somewhere that spies aren’t supposed to fall in love.”  
  
Mary set her tablet aside, “Was that James Bond?”  
  
“No, Chuck.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“It’s a show, never mind.” He rolled his eyes.  
  
“I’m sorry, I get busy.”  
  
“With all that spying, I know.” He sat next to her on the bed. “In all seriousness though, would I get in the way of your… business?”  
  
She shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess it depends on where I’m supposed to go next and what I’m supposed to do.”  
  
“But like you said, I know a guy.”  
  
“True.”  
  
“But that could hold your career back.”  
  
“Also true.”  
  
“What do you think?”  
  
“I think, I love you and I want to be with you.”  
  
John grinned at her.   
  
Three months in and John had yet to tell Mary that he loved her because he wasn’t actually sure of it. John enjoyed being with Mary and he was happy but he still thought about Sherlock, all the time. It was not good. If he truly wanted to be with Mary, he wouldn’t still desire Sherlock, would he?  
  
Before Mary started a new mission, he was going to have to figure out what he was going to do with his future with her.


	15. Something Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently unbeta'd/unbritpicked

John said his goodbyes to Mary Saturday morning, before heading over to 221B to retrieve Sherlock to go to Molly and Tom’s wedding. He was hoping that Mary would be able to join but she had to close up her mission, plenty of boring paperwork.   
It was good though because it would give him some time with Sherlock and some more time to think about what he was going to do now that Mary was potentially leaving somewhere for a new mission.  
  
The Matchmaker was standing in the entryway of the 221 Baker Street in his bespoke suit while holding his overnight bag, looking even more dashing than usual. John felt terribly under-dressed in his old suit.  
  
“I don’t understand why you’re going to torture me with this event. We have to stay at a hotel with these people over night and have breakfast with them after spending a full prior day in their presence.” Sherlock said as a greeting.   
  
“I’m not going to feel like driving home afterwards.”  
  
“I’d be doing the driving.”  
  
“We went over this already, Sherlock. We’re staying the night, we got a hotel room, and we’re going to have some fun. You never have fun.”  
  
Sherlock just pouted.   
  
John thought that he still wanted to kiss the pout off his lips. A thought he should have not been having after being with Mary for nearly four months. Not just being with Mary but practically living with Mary and having thoughts of following after her and her career.  
  
“Let’s going, I really don’t want to be late. I know that you rather not even make it but we told Molly we’d be there.”  
  
“You told Molly.” Sherlock pushed passed John and towards the door. “Let’s go. It’s a two hour drive to the Cotswolds and I really do not want to hear you complain the entire time if we are late.”  
  
John laughed and followed Sherlock out to the rented car.  
  
They were quiet for most of the drive. John played with the radio and Sherlock did little complaining.  
  
When they were about a half hour from the charming B&B, where the wedding was being held, Sherlock glanced over at John. He was clearly trying to deduce something.  
  
“What is it?” John gave in to his own curiosity.  
  
“I read the trafficking ring case Mary was working on is being brought to justice.”  
  
John nodded, “She’s working on closing up the paper work right now.”  
  
“Would you like me to ask Mycroft where they’re going to be sending her next.”  
  
He shrugged.  
  
“Do you not love Mary?”  
  
“Mary is… she’s fantastic and I don’t want to lose her.”  
  
“Interesting, you practically live with her and spend so much time with her but you don’t know if you love her after four months. This is rather unexpected, John. You have surprised me once again.”  
  
“She’s perfect.”  
  
“Then why isn’t she a match?”  
  
John opened and closed his mouth, looking for the words. If he was actually brave, he would have just told Sherlock right there and then that he was sure that he was the one. Mary was so bloody close but no where near Sherlock Holmes. John only had one match and it was the lanky detective next to him.  
  
But he wasn’t brave because he was terrified to lose Sherlock as a mate. He tried to do keep his distance the last few months and it didn’t do him any good because he missed his friend. If he told Sherlock how much he loved him and wanted him then there was a large possibility for Sherlock to want nothing to do with him. Yes, he admitted to the sexual tension but that was it. He didn’t say anything about being hopelessly in love with him, like John was with Sherlock.  
  
“I didn’t say that she wasn’t.”  
  
“Not in the exact words. It was subtext.”  
  
John shook his head, “I don’t want her to ruin her career to be with me. I don’t know what she’s going to be doing next and if it’s something amazing, I don’t want her to have to choose me or the job. That wouldn’t be fair.”  
  
“So setting you up with someone in a career I thought you would find interesting was not good.”  
  
“No, I think it’s brilliant. I just… I can’t know what her actual, normal days are life and I don’t know what’s she’s going to be doing next.”  
  
“So, you do love her. You’re worried about how being unhappy.”  
  
John shrugged.  
  
“If you’re interested I’m sure you could do something with SIS. Mycroft could figure out a way. You’re a terrible liar though.”  
  
John laughed, “No, it’s ok.”  
  
“If she leaves for another country and you could go with her, would you?”  
  
He bit his bottom lip because he wasn’t sure how to answer Sherlock. John put a lot of thought into leaving with Mary, if he could, but he knew he’d spend too much time missing Sherlock. That probably wasn’t a good sign for his relationship with Mary.  
  
“I think you should go, you’re bored at the surgery. There’s nothing really here for you.”  
  
Sherlock was probably right, he always was. It just hurt to hear him say that there was nothing for John.

***

They had just enough time to check in before having to go down to the ceremony.   
  
Sherlock hoped that he could find a way to disappear before it but he doubt that John would let him out of his sight. He knew that the whole thing was going to be terrible. He just wanted the weekend to be over with so he could return to 221B and away from the most ridiculous thing John ever suggested.  
  
The Matchmaker barely took in the quaint room with two little beds before they were off to the ceremony at a church down the way. He spent the whole time deducing everyone around him, doing his best not to die from completely boredom. Sherlock never really understood marriage, even when he was in love with Victor. The only reason to go through with it was for legal reasons and then, you didn’t need to spend thousands of pounds on a stupid party.  
  
John on the other hand wanted the whole thing, marriage and kids. Sherlock thought Mary wanted that as well but with how John was second guessing moving with her, Sherlock couldn’t be too sure anymore.  
  
At the same time he didn’t want John to leave to wherever Mary would be going, he was already seeing him far too little. Sherlock wouldn’t stand it if John went to another country. That would hurt too much.  
  
“Sherlock, it’s over.” John murmured and nudged Sherlock in the ribs with his elbow. He wasn’t very gentle about it.  
  
“Thank god.” He must have said too loud because a few people glared at him.  
  
John shook his head before pulling Sherlock up from his seat on the pew.   
  
“Can we leave now?”  
  
“No. You know, you’re going to be a horrible person to enjoy the reception with.”  
  
“Then you should have let me stay home.”  
  
“I just wanted you to see how your work ended up.”  
  
Sherlock observed that John had left his cane behind but didn’t bring it up. It had been a full year and John’s pattern with the limp still made little sense to him. Mycroft had figured it out, it seemed but Sherlock didn’t get the hint. Or maybe he didn’t want to get the hint.  
  
“I’ll put on a good act.”  
  
“Can’t you just be Sherlock but not miserable.” John whispered as they made their way out of the church.  
  
“I don’t want to be in this situation. Of course I’m miserable. Maybe you can do a match or something.” John shook his head. “Find some fun in it.”  
  
“Boring.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
  
The guest greeted the couple on the church steps and pictures were taken. Boring.  
  
Eventually they moved back to the Inn to overtake the hall that was filled with the sickening scent of flowers. Sherlock hated flowers, they reminded him of Victor’s funeral and of John’s fourth date with Mary.  
  
“Well, if it isn’t the great Sherlock Holmes. What are you doing here?”  
  
He glanced to his right to find a tall brunette woman grinning in the seat next to him.  
  
“I matched them.” Sherlock replied, suddenly realizing the John had gone missing. He had said something about drinks. They were in the portion of the event where people chatted before dinner and speeches.  
  
“I know, Molly goes on and on about it. Are you really as good as she says?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
The woman laughed, “What are your rates for tonight?”  
  
“I’d do it just for the pure entertainment right now.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Sherlock determined that the woman, Janine, wasn’t a suitable match for anyone in the room. She didn’t seem too upset by it. She asked Sherlock for someone who wouldn’t be totally repellent for the night.  
  
“Is John your match?” Janine asked after Sherlock offered his opinion of Tom’s brother, who was currently cheating on his longterm girlfriend. They were now into the drinking and merriment portion of the event.  
  
He fixed her with a glare. Thankfully the other man was at the bar again. He seemed annoyed most of the night but Sherlock wasn’t sure why because he was actually having a decent time trying to find Janine a match.  
  
“Don’t be like that.” She shook her head. “He’s insanely jealous that you’ve been paying attention to me all night and not him.”  
  
Sherlock frowned. He knew that John was interested in him sexually but why the jealousy? He had a serious girlfriend.  
  
John joined them back at the table, with Molly and Tom in tow.  
  
“Oh, gosh, I feel like a terrible host. I haven’t even made it over to say hi to you all.” Molly was beaming. “I’m so happy you could make it! We wouldn’t be here without John and you, Sherlock.”  
  
“Thanks for sticking me at the table with Mr Holmes, Molly. He’s been very charming.” Janine put her hand on Sherlock’s forearm.  
  
Sherlock did he best not to react. Janine was doing this on purpose in front of John to push his jealousy even further.  
  
It worked to produce the jealousy because John was speechless when Molly asked him about Mary. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts.  
  
He put his arm behind Janine on her chair in an attempt to look relaxed.  
  
John appeared as if he was seeing some sort of mythical creature in front of his face.  
  
“Oh, goodness! Has the matchmaker found his match? I hope so!”  
  
Sherlock just put a smile on his face and Janine moved a bit closer. He liked playing this game.  
  
“Yay!” Molly clapped and went on to talk about how she felt like she was being pulled in a million directions and wished she could stay and chat.  
  
“We understand, try to enjoy yourself though.” John said with a slight nod of the head.  
  
“Have a great night!” Tom wished with a big grin before the newly weds took off for another table.  
  
“Stupid.” Sherlock shook his head.  
  
“What?” Janine asked.  
  
“Marriage.”  
  
“That’s one way to win a girl over.” John scoffed.  
  
Janine raised her eyebrows, “I actually feel the same way.”  
  
She didn’t, she couldn’t wait to be married.  
  
John’s face did something funny, which Sherlock surprisingly never saw before. He swore he had seen every expression John had in the year they had known one another. How much else had he missed about John?

***

Watching Sherlock get flirted at all night made John so jealous that he couldn’t stand it. He shouldn’t have been because he had a girlfriend back at home— who was probably going to kill him and make it look like an accident after what was about to happen.  
  
When the reception was winding down, and John decided he had more than enough to drink and more than enough of that woman flirting with Sherlock, he went up to the room along and left Sherlock to chat with Janine.  
  
John stewed in jealously for fifteen minutes before Sherlock walked through the door, “So, you like her.”  
  
“No,” Sherlock scoffed, leaning against the wall to untie his shoes.  
  
“You both make a striking pair. Tall, dark, and —”  
  
“I don’t like women.”  
  
“You only liked Victor.” John moved to stand in front of him.  
  
Sherlock looked up, after undoing his shoes. “No.”  
  
“He’s the only one you’ve ever mentioned.”  
  
The taller man shrugged and licked his lips. “I don’t talk a lot about those things, you should know that.”  
  
John decided to be brave with Sherlock, finally after six months. He invaded Afghanistan, he could do this. He could put it on the line with Sherlock.  
  
The army doctor surged forward, pressing Sherlock into the wall, and leaned up to kiss him.   
  
Thankfully, he was met with Sherlock bending his head down, in search of John’s lips.  
  
He was only slightly drunk, nothing like he was a few months back when it had happened before. Sherlock, to his knowledge had not had more than one drink.   
  
John knew for a fact that they were both one hundred precent interested in this too. Sherlock was pulling him closer and John was hanging on to him for dear life as their mouths explored one another’s.  
  
 He couldn’t believe that it was actually happening.  
  
Sadly it was all broken by frantic knocking on the door, “Bad timing.” John growled against Sherlock’s mouth.  
  
“No, no, it’s fine. That was a mistake.” Sherlock flattened his hands on John’s chest, like he was about to push him away.  
  
John stepped back, feeling completely crushed.  
  
Sherlock slipped by him to open the door.  
  
Molly and Tom were on the other side, looking distraught. “I’m so sorry but there’s been a murder!”  
  
“What?” John stepped next to Sherlock, who was using his barefoot to keep the door open. “Who?”  
  
“A family friend’s date. They found him in the walk in freezer.” Molly’s eyes were wide. “This is not how I wanted to remember my wedding night.”  
  
“Nonsense, you’re a pathologist, I’m sure you don’t mind.”  
  
“Sherlock,” John said warning, shaking his head.  
  
“I just, I was hoping you could take a look.” Molly bit her bottom lip. “Just to make things go smoother.”  
  
Sherlock hesitated on taking a step out the door.  
  
He picked up Sherlock’s shoes and shoved them in his direction, “Let’s go take a look.”  
  
“I don’t solve cases.”  
  
“Mary, Lestrade, Tessa, and many others have some argument against that.” John reminded him.  
  
Sherlock took his shoes, “Fine. I’ll look at the body. I’ll probably do better than the police here. I bet the ones here are even more incompetent than the ones in the city.”  
  
John was going to make a Hot Fuzz reference but he knew it would have been lost on Sherlock. Molly and Tom were probably not in the mood for a joke.  
  
“How well do you know this guest?” Sherlock asked after he put his shoes on and they were making their way down to the B&B’s kitchen.  
  
“Not well at all. I had to invite the family friend, a neighbor we grew up next to. My mum made me invite her here because she used to babysit my sister and I. I have no idea who her date is.”  
  
“I didn’t notice anything suspicious.” Sherlock said, appearing to be deep in thought. “Are you sure its murder.”  
  
“Why would the body be in the freezer?” Tom asked.  
  
“I’m unsure, I don’t have enough data.”  
  
They soon arrived at the walk in to find that the manager of the hotel was on the phone with the police.   
  
John persuaded the manager to let Sherlock and he take a look because they were a detective and a doctor. Obviously, Sherlock was no longer a consulting detective but the man had no idea.  
  
The two went into the freezer and had a look at the body. Sherlock looked closely at the body, observing it even more critically than he did his living clients. He moved around the corpse with purpose. John started to wish that Sherlock did this for a living instead.  
  
“There’s no visible signs of foul play, take a look. I don’t even smell any alcohol.”  
  
John looked over the body and didn’t see anything odd.  
  
“Let’s talk to the girlfriend.”  
  
“I thought we were just looking at the body.”  
  
“There’s no data here.”  
  
“So you’re going to solve it.”  
  
“Maybe.” Sherlock said before exiting the freezer.  
  
John followed on the other man’s heels and found the man’s girlfriend in kitchen now with Molly, Tom, and the manager.  
  
“I’m sorry for your loss,” John said because he had a feeling Sherlock was going to be blunt and to the point like always.  
  
“How long have you dated the man?”  
  
“Jacob and I have been together for, oh, five years now.” She sniffled.  
  
“Did he have any enemies?”  
  
“No, no, everyone loved him.”  
  
“Did you notice anything strange about him tonight?”  
  
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Her bottom lip quivered. “He was feeling a bit dizzy and his heart was racing. He said he was probably having an anxiety attack. He has — had those from time to time so I didn’t think anything of it.”  
  
John’s interest was peaked, “Did Jacob have a history of heart problems?”  
  
“No,” She shook her head.  
  
John considered the corpse’s body. He was slightly overweight but that didn’t mean he had a bad heart. He’d need to take a look at his lab reports to know if was at a risk, really.  
  
“His father died of a heart attack.”  
  
John nodded. Family history.  
  
“I think he had a heart attack, stepped into the freezer to cool down from what he thought was an anxiety attack. No foul play.” Sherlock said quickly before looking around and sweeping out of the room.  
  
“I’m sorry.” John said again as the woman began to cry.  
  
“I just wasn’t expecting it.” She took a seat in the chair the manager had produced for her.  
  
John stayed around until the police and EMTs came along. Molly told him that they were relieved that there wasn’t a murder at their wedding but it may have been a better story than someone just passing away.  
  
By the time John went back to the room Sherlock’s bag was gone and there was a note saying he had to go back to London for something important and Janine said she’d give John a ride back to the city. John should have been angry with him but he knew that Sherlock was just running from his feelings.  
  
The only thing he was angry about was that he had no idea where his bloody cane went.


	16. John's Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd/ubritpicked at the moment

John knew that he was supposed to be with Sherlock, without a doubt. But he had to break up with Mary first.   
  
He should have done that long before kissing Sherlock at Molly’s wedding but he acted completely on impulse. John hated himself when he acted on impulse. In the past he put his and others lives at risk but it always (except the one time when he was shot and nearly killed) worked out. He didn’t put his life at risk but there was a huge possibility that he was going to hurt Mary. He hated that.  
  
“So, you and Sherlock kissed.” Mary said slowly after he detailed the events of the weekend. At this point John was sure that his spy girlfriend was going to either kill him or Sherlock. Possibly both of them. So there he was risking lives again.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Ok.”  
  
“Ok? What do you mean, ok?” He furrowed his brow. “Ok, let’s move on and continue to be together. Or ok, I’m going to murder you in your sleep and no one will ever find your body?”  
  
“I guess, I mean I’m ok with it. I’m not ok with it because I don’t tolerate cheating but… what I meant to say is you made your mind up with what you want to do now the mission is over. I’m glad you did it before I had to figure out what to do with my future. If you’re going to leave me for anyone, then I guess it makes sense that its Sherlock.” She didn’t seem angry, John was thankful for that.  
  
“I could be making a huge mistake.” He looked down at his shoes. “You’re brilliant and basically everything I ever wanted.”  
  
“So is Sherlock but he’s all you ever wanted, not basically.” She pointed out. “Plus, you don’t love me. I know you tried, but you don’t. Its fine because you told me that spies shouldn’t fall in love.”  
  
That didn’t make John feel any better. He didn’t want Mary to spend the rest of her life alone, she deserved happiness.  
  
“You’re not going to kill me in my sleep, are you?” He cocked an eyebrow.  
  
Mary gave him a smile and a shrug, not giving much away. It sent a bit of a chill down his spine.  
  
“Ok, I probably deserve that on some level.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I’ll spare you. I’ve been burned far worse before and I didn’t kill that bloke.” She sighed and stood up from her chair.  
  
“Great, I think.” John rubbed his face.  
  
“Now, go get your Sherlock.” Mary pointed towards her door.  
  
“I doubt he wants anything to do with me. He solved that non-murder in two minutes and then he disappeared, leaving me to ride with the woman he flirted with all night to make me jealous.”  
  
“People are very surprising, trust me.” She nodded. “Now, get out of my flat and leave me to be angry with you.”  
  
John didn’t dare stay one more minute.

***

Following an painful tube ride back to Baker Street, John found Sherlock wearing his goggles in the kitchen with a blow torch and an eyeball. To most it should have been horrifying but after living with Sherlock for a year it was almost endearing.   
  
“Experiment?”  
  
“Mmm, I’m so bored. I’m trying to quit smoking and it’s so tedious,” He said while rolling his head back.   
  
The eyeball went ‘splat’ into his tea. “Never let me challenge myself like this again.”  
  
John was feeling rather nervous so the laugh he let out was more of a snort. He took a seat, to stop himself from pacing. He set his cane next to him, not that he had been using it to walk home or climb the stairs.  
  
The man set the blow torch down. “Why do you look so worried? If it’s because the events of Saturday night I—“  
  
“You were a twat for running away, you know?”  
  
“Oh, that. I—”  
  
“Can you… can I just talk for a minute because I have something to say? You never let me get out full thoughts without interrupting me.”  
  
Sherlock nodded, silently.  
  
“I found my match.” John said simply and took a deep breath before he could finish.  
  
Sherlock didn’t stay quiet, “Mary? Yes, I told you that she was the one. I’m glad that you’re going to be leaving with her to wherever her next mission is. Saturday was a mistake and I’m sure you both spoke about it. If she doesn’t want me around then I understand. I’m very happy—”  
  
“It’s you. You’re my match, you prick.”  
  
John expected Sherlock to go on a long rant about how they were not a match, pointing out all the rows they had. But all that came from Sherlock’s end was silence. The man just stood there, staring blankly into space.  
  
“Sherlock?” John asked after half a minute.  
  
It was like he had broke the Matchmaker’s brain. He couldn’t tell if what was going through Sherlock’s mind was good or bad. Not that he could read Sherlock any other time but he did have the ability to do so every so often.  
  
“Sherlock? This is getting kind of creepy now.” John said after a good full minute of silence.  
  
Finally, the other man snapped out of it, “I’m your — you think that I’m your match. You’re just sexually attracted to me.”  
  
“No.” John said simply.  
  
Sherlock picked up the cup of eyeball tea and took a sip.  
  
John grimaced and asked, “How was that?”  
  
“Surprisingly, not bad.” He put the cup back down and started to pace. “This is impossible.”  
  
“Um, no. We’re more of a match than anyone you tried to put me with.”  
  
“But not Mary, she was…” Sherlock frowned deeply and went quiet again.  
  
“Do you not think we’re a match?”  
  
“I never thought that I would find another match. I never tried to match myself with anyone else.”  
  
John felt something twist in his chest, “Well, I’m your other match.”  
  
“You do share many similarities with Victor.” Sherlock finally took his goggles off. “But you’re also very different, which is good but you shouldn’t want to be with me. You just want to have sex with me, which is fine and I wouldn’t object to. I’m not a good person to date.”  
  
“I don’t just want to shag you! And what do you mean you’re not a good person to date? I know you’re a prick sometimes but I know you’re just putting it on. We’ve practically been acting like an old married couple as it is.”  
  
“You don’t understand, before—”  
  
“Sod before, it’s not before, Sherlock.”  
  
“Fine, but I still think you’re acting on the fact that you want to shag me.”  
  
“Christ, I thought I was so much more obvious than this.” John rubbed his forehead. He was going to get a headache from the situation.  
  
“You’re terribly obvious.” Sherlock said.  
  
“And you didn’t see that I have been hopelessly in love with you for six bloody months?”  
  
“I… I must have missed that.”  
  
“Probably because you didn’t want to see it.” John ventured. Sherlock was so closely guarded but John didn’t think he put up so much of one that he was blind any potential sign of a match.  
  
“I’m not sure…” Sherlock trailed off.  
  
“It’s fine.” John stood up and took his cane. “I’m going to give you some space.”  
  
Sherlock didn’t say anything, he just nodded.  
  
John limped up to his room to let Sherlock think things through.

***

Sherlock went to take another sip of his tea with the eyeball in it but immediately put it back down on the table. He needed to throw that out before doing that again.  
  
How could John be his match? He was just supposed to be a source of rent, and that was it. John developed into a business partner and then a friend. Eventually he awakened Sherlock’s libido and he was filling in spots of Sherlock’s life where he had missed Victor.   
  
He didn’t need a match.  
  
In the last few months, Sherlock’s former life seemed to be creeping back to him but he wasn’t sure he wanted to go down that path again. He had lost Victor to a criminal mastermind, he didn’t want to lose John as well. To lose John would be the worst thing in his most recent memory.  
  
When John was with Mary the last months, he was so unhappy that it made him sick. He never admitted to himself that his sudden depression was because he was lonely and missing John. The nights he spent thinking of Victor when John wasn’t around, weren’t just because some of the time coincided with the period of time that he died in. It was because he missed feeling how he felt with Victor and he knew that John could provide that and possibly more.  
  
Sherlock went up to John’s room, where the door was open as an invitation to come right on in but he stayed hovering in the doorway.  
  
John looked up as soon as he heard Sherlock’s footsteps at the door.  
  
“You can’t avoid being with someone just because you think you killed Victor. You’re going to be so sad and lonely. I don’t want to see you like that the rest of your life. Even if you don’t want to be with me, I want you to be happy.”  
  
“It just hurt far too much last time.”  
  
“But when you were with him, weren’t you happy? Don’t you miss that?”  
  
Some days he missed it desperately but he mostly did a very good job of not thinking about his former life.  
  
Sherlock just nodded.  
  
“Then you should find yourself another match. It doesn’t have to be me either, if I’m wrong.”  
  
“Fine, I’ll date you.”  
  
John made a face, “That sounds like I’m forcing you. If you don’t want to then you don’t have to.”  
  
“No, I want to try it. I would like to try dating you. Though, I feel like we’re in a strange position because we know each other very well.”  
  
“I think it would make it easier. None of that first date awkwardness.”  
  
Sherlock leaned against the doorframe, “So we don’t need to go on a first date.”  
  
“No, we’re going on a first date, it’s just not going to be terribly awkward.” John corrected him. “Tomorrow afternoon we’ll go to the Wellcome Museum.”  
  
“The anatomy and pathology museum?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “That’s a strange first date.”  
  
“No, it’s not, you send people on first dates to things they mutually enjoy. Both of us have interest in anatomy and pathology. We’ll go do that and then you choose the second part.”  
  
Sherlock nodded, “Fine. Can we shag now though?”  
  
“You’re gaging for it, aren’t you?” John threw his head back and laughed.  
  
The matchmaker flushed.  
  
“It’s ok.” John licked his lips. “Let’s just see how the date goes before we move on to that.”

***

The next day Sherlock didn’t see John until he arrived back at the flat around two in the afternoon. He had been missing from when Sherlock woke up in the morning until then.  
  
He was carrying a brown paper bag, “Now, I normally would bring flowers or buy you dinner but since you hate the sentiment of flowers and I’m taking you to a museum I picked you up this.”  
  
Sherlock took the bag and peered inside to find two feet.  
  
“They have some weird mold on them. I got them from Molly and I don’t want to know why she was willing to give them away. This is completely illegal but I knew you’d appreciate it. Just don’t tell anyone I did this for you.”  
  
“Thank you.” Sherlock smiled.  
  
“Please refrigerate them and keep them away from the food.”  
  
Sherlock did as asked because he didn’t want to start a row before their date. That would probably not be good.  
  
They finally left for the museum once everything was put away.  
  
John was not using his cane on the walk over to the Wellcome Collection. Sherlock was almost now certain why the limp came and went. He had spent so much time avoiding the idea that John could want him or he could want John like this, he didn’t realize that John lost his limp the more time he spent with Sherlock.  
  
“You got the feet from Molly. That’s curious. Don’t people normally take a holiday after getting married?”  Sherlock questioned John as they crossed the street.  
  
“Apparently they wanted to wait for one reason or another, something about better rates.”  
  
“You know the exact reason but you know it will bore me to death.”  
  
“Yes,” John laughed as they strolled down the street.  
  
“You do know me very well, don’t you?”  
  
“Better than you think.” John said as the reached the museum. “And I think you know me less than you think.”  
  
John donated some money at the entrance as Sherlock pondered John’s statement. He was most likely right but Sherlock knew that he would know John completely at some point. He also didn’t doubt that John was a bit more observant than Sherlock gave the doctor credit for.  
  
“You used to spend a lot of time here when you were studying.” Sherlock deduced as they climbed the stairs.  
  
“Yeah, good place to do research. The library here is excellent, I’m sure you’d like getting lost in it. If you want to do that, can you save it for another time because I don’t think it’d make the best first date.” John explained. “Have you been before?”  
  
“No, surprisingly.”  
  
“I thought you would have visited a million times. It’s right up your alley.”  
  
“It used to be right up my alley.” Sherlock pointed out.  
  
John smiled as they reached the top of the stairs and reached for Sherlock’s hand to pull him to another part of the collection.   
  
“I brought you here mainly because there’s an exhibition called Death: A Self Portrait. I know you like the macabre so I thought you might have some interest in it. I was hoping for some criminal exhibition but we could always go to the museum over at New Scotland Yard another day… if there’s another date. I guess even if there’s not because we could go as mates.”  
  
Sherlock wasn’t paying attention to John’s nervous ramblings because he was too focused on the fact that he was holding hands with John Watson in an anatomy and pathology museum on their first date. Not only that but he was enjoying it. He never thought that he’d be partaking in public displays of affections, even one so small as holding hand. He never even did that with Victor.  
  
He didn’t focus until John dropped his hand when they entered the exhibition that John was looking for.  
  
They enjoyed the exhibit and each other, quietly and only stopping to chat every so often about a piece. He loved hearing how much John knew about his field, he was brilliant. Sherlock was sure if he wanted to return to criminal investigation then John would have no problem finding a way to use his expertise of medical knowledge there. Sherlock was sure it was far superior his customer service skills.  
  
“So, what were you thinking about for the second part of our date?” John questioned when they reached the end of the exhibit on the man who founded the collection.  
  
“Take away from the Indian place down the road and returning home to watch a movie.” There wasn’t much else Sherlock wanted to do with John for a date aside from just wanting to be with John. That’s how it used to be with Victor as well. He needed to stop thinking about Victor so much, if he was going to be able to love John.  
  
“You hate movies.”  
  
“I enjoy watching them with you.” Sherlock said quickly because it wasn’t something he wanted to admit to.  
  
John’s smile lit up his whole face. Sherlock liked that and decided he needed to make John smile like that more often.   
  
“That was surprisingly sweet.”  
  
“I couldn’t think of anything else I wanted to do with you.”  
  
“I’m sure you can think of plenty,” John’s voice dropped.  
  
Sherlock was sure that he blushed like some prepubescent girl over a crush.  
  
The Doctor and Matchmaker picked up dinner at their favorite place and went back to their flat to watch a movie that he let John pick out because he only had a passing interest in it.  
  
“You’re very far away.” John gestured at the distance on the sofa between the two men after he finished eating.  
  
“I’m just used to sitting on one side of the sofa and you on the other.” Sherlock moved closer to John and John put his arm behind him, resting his arm on his shoulders.  
  
“This feels very adolescent of us.” He slid down so he could rest more comfortable against John.  
  
“Snuggling on the sofa?”  
  
“No, the whole date.” Sherlock frowned.  
  
“Why? We went to a museum and now we’re back at our flat watching a movie.” John sounded very worried and Sherlock felt bad for making him feel that way.  
  
“I don’t know.” Sherlock shrugged. “I guess, I just never thought of dating since I was younger.”  
  
“You think about dates all the time.” John pointed out.  
  
“Yes, but for other people.”  
  
“So, did you not have a good time?”  
  
“No, I had a brilliant time. I just, I don’t know, did you have a good time?”  
  
John chuckled, “Obviously I did. Can’t you tell? You are a bloody deductive genius.”  
  
“So, we can… date?”  
  
“If you want.”  
  
“I’m not a fan of the things I normally send people on.”  
  
“Well, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”  
  
“Good, I did like the museum and I especially enjoy this.”  
  
“But romantic dinners and all that, not your thing?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“That’s fine, it’s all fine.” John turned a little to look at him. “It’s just spending time with you, that I like. I like how we were to begin with, there doesn’t need to be a lot of changes. We’re basically there as it is.”  
  
“There are a few things we could change.” Sherlock smirked.  
  
John rolled his eyes with a laugh.  
  
Sherlock leaned forward to kiss him but stopped suddenly when he heard footsteps bounding up the stairs. Of course Lestrade was going to ruin it, he always had a habit of showing up at the most inopportune times.  
  
“Sherlock? John?”  
  
“His timing is ABYSMAL!” Sherlock yelled the last word at the top of his lungs as the DI entered the flat.  
  
“I’m sorry. Did, I ah, did I interrupt something?” He gave a cheeky grin and raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Yes, you did.” He stood up with his hands on his hips.  
  
“Right, ah, I just wanted to know if you would like to join me in investigating a supposed locked room double murder.”  
  
“Murder suicide. Go away.” Sherlock dismissed him as started to walk towards his bedroom, hoping that John would follow and Lestrade would get the clue.  
  
“No, both victims have fatal gunshot wounds to the head and the murder weapon is no where to be found.”  
  
Sherlock stopped before he reached the kitchen, “The doors and windows?”  
  
“No windows in the room and the door was locked. The man’s wife heard shouting then the gunshots and then silence.”  
  
“It was her.”  
  
“I don’t think it was. She didn’t have a key to the room. I know, she could have tossed it but she was genuinely distraught.”  
  
He rocked up on to his toes and then back down. Sherlock knew that if he was pulled into this then there was probably no going back. He did miss solving cases so much but he was with John now. He couldn’t let what happened to Victor, happen to John.  
  
“Let’s go, Sherlock, you should do this. You should have seen the look on your face when Greg described the scene.” John encouraged. “I’ll come with, if you want me to that is.”  
  
It would be a lot of change for one day but he had such a fantastic time with John and he had denied himself a relationship for years because of his past so maybe he was cutting himself off from the things he most enjoyed in his life.  
  
Sherlock took a deep breath, “Ok. I’ll look but I don’t promise anything.”  
  
“Brilliant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for the day. Hopefully I'll post the last 2 chapters in the coming week.


	17. Finally

The next night, John and Sherlock somehow ended up ducked behind a dumpster with two unsavory looking men with guns pursing them. It was thrilling.  
  
John never had a better date in his entire life (even though he hadn’t slept for over thirty something hours but that wasn’t too big of a deal). It was all thanks to Greg dropping by with the case. Not that the rest of the previous day had been horrible but the case was something else…  
  
They left 221B and went to the massive penthouse apartment where Nicholas and Victoria VanGuard lived. In the penthouse was Nicholas’ office, which was always locked and out of reach to Victoria. She didn’t have a key and the pass code that was required to be let in. Nicholas was supposedly an accountant for some big company in the city but John had no idea why he would need such security. Clearly something shady was going on there.  
  
The police had to wait to be let in by the security firm that had set up the office. Behind the door was the bodies of Nicholas, and his associate, Douglass Gilmore were found.  
  
 After a short look around the room, Sally Donovan, who John soon learned hated Sherlock, called her boss. Lestrade in turn went to Baker Street to ask Sherlock for some input.  
  
Greg made a comment to John about how the scene was a little grizzly. That  obviously didn’t deter the army doctor one bit. John had seen his fair share of blood in the war. He almost missed it.   
  
Of course Sherlock spoke right up, calling Lestrade an idiot, and reminding the DI the John had been to war.  
  
In the room John didn’t see much, aside from two shooting victims and no weapon. Apparently Sherlock found many things intriguing because he was sniffing about the room like some blood hound. Obviously it was far more attractive than a dog.   
  
After about five minutes of silence Sherlock went off on a long story about the murder and revealed another secret door, which led to Nicholas’ study. It was accessed by a button that was under Nicholas’ desk. Sherlock led them all into the study, then out into the hall and back to the service elevator, where the murderer most likely came and went from.  
  
John was mesmerized by Sherlock’s deductions on the crime and then the following possible motives. Sherlock declared there was some not so lucrative business deal that clearly went sour. The consulting matchmaker, who clearly should have stuck with being a detective, wasn’t sure what they were getting up to. He was going to have to do some further investigating.  
  
They went back to Baker Street and John had to avoid jumping Sherlock because seeing the man at work was a huge turn on that he had not expected. John held it together because he held it together for months without jumping Sherlock so he could survive a few more hours.  
  
A few more hours ended up being an entire day because Sherlock uncovered that the company Van Guard was working was Russian mafia. According to a source that Sherlock unearthed their relationship had started to fall apart.   
  
Sherlock concluded that VanGaurd and Gilmore were working in an art smuggling ring. He was sure that Van Guard was most likely stealing some of the art pieces for themselves and selling them to someone who were giving them a higher price.   
  
This lead Sherlock to determining that they were storing the pieces somewhere in order to sell them. Probably some warehouse or shipping container.  
  
After even more investigating between doing research online at home, Nicholas’ home office, and Scotland Yard, Sherlock narrowed it down. Of course, he did because the man was bloody brilliant.  
  
That’s how they ended up crouched behind a dumpster near an old, abandoned warehouse, with two people presumably from the Russian mafia shooting at them.  
  
“Fucking hell,” John muttered as Sherlock reached into his great coat. “I wish I had my—”  
  
“Illegal side arm.” Sherlock said, handing over John’s Sig.  
  
“Christ, it’s in a safe and I—”  
  
“Please, I knew you must have had one hidden somewhere in the house, I’ve alluded to it before, and using your ID number was so simple.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Now put it to use and get us out of here alive because I’d very much like to finish the date we started yesterday.”  
  
With that John took a moment to calm down and then he started shooting at the two men that were not too far away now.  
  
It didn’t take him long to incapacitate the two men because he was a great shot, something that he could probably hold over Sherlock. There wasn’t much he could say he was better at than Sherlock and he had a feeling shooting was one of them.  
  
“We need to go. I texted Lestrade with the lead.”  
  
“You texted Lestrade with a lead?” John yelled at Sherlock as he stalked over to one of the men. “You couldn’t have just got him here in the first place before I shot these idiots?” John kicked the gun away from the man and Sherlock did the same to the other.  
  
“They probably would have got to us before Lestrade got here.”  
  
“You could have told him a long time ago.”  
  
“I wanted to make sure that I was right.”  
  
“Oh my god.” John threw his hands up. “Let’s get out of here right now.”  
  
“Yes, we have a date to officially finish.” Sherlock gave him a lopsided grin.  
  
“This is such a strange, fantastic date that lasted over an entire bloody day.” John shook his head and tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans.  
  
“I didn’t ruin it?”  
  
Instead of answering John pulled Sherlock over by the lapels of his coat and kissed him until he couldn’t breathe.  
  
“I didn’t.” Sherlock said when they finally broke apart, “Let’s go. Now.”  
  
John didn’t argue.

***

They were barely in the flat before Sherlock had divested John of his coat and jumper. He couldn’t stop thinking about John’s hand on the gun or the interested look on his face when he was examining the two corpses back at the flat. Or the praise that he spouted when Sherlock rattled off deductions.  
  
“That was bloody brilliant.” John tugged Sherlock’s earlobe between his teeth.  
  
“We should throw your jumper and coat out — burn it in the fireplace, the GSR… and you need to wash your hands and the gun and…” Sherlock said these things but he just couldn’t stop kissing and touching John for a moment to carry out the steps.   
  
He figured that they would be fine at least til morning. Even if something did send Scotland Yard in their direction for harming and possibly killing one of the two Russian men, he was sure that Mycroft would take care of it because he always did (even though it was irritating).  
  
Plus, the men were criminals. John did everyone a favor.  
  
“Later,” John accidentally popped off one of Sherlock’s button but the matchmaker couldn’t bring himself to care about his expensive shirt because he had John Watson half naked and now standing in the middle of the kitchen. He couldn’t remember exactly when they got to there. He could barely remember walking up the stairs, his mind was swimming with some fantastic chemicals.  
  
Sherlock’s silk shirt ended up in a ball on the floor along with the button, John’s jumper, and both of their coats.  
  
They stopped moving for a moment and John just looked at him with those crystal clear blue eys.  
  
Sherlock suddenly felt dizzy. Weak in the knees too. His body hadn’t been kissed or touched in this way for years. He couldn’t remember anyone ever looking at him like John was looking at him. Like he wanted to devour him or crawl inside of him or something equally romantic and disgusting at the same time.  
  
“We need to slow down.”  
  
“We did just come to a screeching halt.” Sherlock tried to sound haughty but his voice was all wrong and he knew it didn’t have the effect he wanted it to.  
  
“You’re such a prick.” John said with a laugh and pushed Sherlock towards the wall. “Do you know how bloody long I’ve wanted to do this with you? We’re taking our time even though all I want to do right now is bend up over the nearest surface and fuck you. But I’m going to stop myself and take my time.”  
  
“My, my, doctor, that mouth on you.” Sherlock’s back hit the wall.  
  
“My nickname was Three Continents Watson.”  
  
“That’s a rather long nickname.” His voice hitched when John palmed him through his trousers.  
  
“Always thought that too.” John chuckled, leaning up and pressing his lips to the underside of Sherlock’s jaw. “But I only heard it every so often. I didn’t actually go by it. I normally went by Doc.” He ran his hands up Sherlock’s torso.  
  
“Ah, that makes more sense.” Sherlock watched John intently as the other man licked his lips.  
  
John cupped Sherlock’s cheek and rubbed his calloused thumb across Sherlock’s bottom lip. People always seemed to like his lips and for the most part it was annoying. He didn’t mind John giving them any attention.  
  
“This is unbelievable.” John shook his head, as if in shock of the whole situation.  
  
“We should have done this a long time ago.” Sherlock spoke while John worked on his button and fly. His voice sounded shaky and weird, which was strange to him because they had barely done a thing outside of some vigorous kissing.  
  
“We tried. Twice.” John reminded him.  
  
“We’re going to acknowledge the night—“  
  
“Where we were pissed and nearly shagged on the sofa? Yes, I guess we are.”  
  
“I’m glad I’m not the only one that remembers it.”  
  
John pushed Sherlock’s trousers down and the matchmaker, clumsily kicked off his shoes. “Use the term remember loosely.”  
  
“Yes, we were… quite…”  
  
“Wasted? Yeah.” John got undressed down to his boxers as well. “I’m glad we didn’t sleep together then because I do want to remember this and it would have been the wrong reasons.” The doctor pressed Sherlock against the wall a bit firmer and his hand slipped into his pants.  
  
“Should have done it the next night.” Sherlock gasped as John wrapped his hand around him and gave a slow but firm pull.  
  
“You ran off,” John’s other hand was busy in Sherlock’s hair.   
  
Sherlock felt like there was a constant surge of electricity running through his body. He couldn’t remember ever feeling that way before, not that his brain was really able to think back too much.  
  
“Yes, I was an idiot.” Sherlock’s hands wandered down the small of John’s, teasing at the elastic of his boxers. “Why are we still wearing pants?”  
  
“I don’t know.” John laughed against Sherlock’s neck before going back to kissing and nipping at it while his hand twisted up again.  
  
Sherlock bit off a moan then regained some piece of mind to speak. “Are you afraid to take them off? Self conscious, which would be ridiculous since you have such the reputation.”  
  
“Bugger off,” John’s hand moved a little faster but still far too slow for Sherlock’s liking.  
  
“I’m trying to bugger you, or you me… it doesn’t really matter, which ever you like. I have no plans to bugger off anywhere though.”  
  
John chuckled as Sherlock did his best to work John’s boxers all the way off between the rough kisses and the lovely hand job.   
  
He eventually gave up on attempting to pull of John’s boxers. So Sherlock just enjoyed everything that John was doing to him for a few blissful minutes, letting his brain not do anything but enjoy.  
  
Then Sherlock had enough with the slowing down, he needed some action.  
  
Eventually, Sherlock grabbed John’s hips so hard that it surprised him and he let go of Sherlock. The taller man drove John back and soon they collided with the kitchen table. It scrapped across the floor and John nearly fell over when the table hit the counter with a loud bang. John was going to have a few odd bruises.  
  
Mrs Hudson was probably woken up by it but neither of the men seemed to remember anyone else existed outside of them.  
  
“Well, this vaguely brings back memories. We should have shagged that night you made me flip you over my shoulder or the night you threw me against the refrigerator.” John smiled at him as Sherlock finally got the man’s boxers off of him. Aha! Success!  
  
“You’re an idiot.” Sherlock said as dropped to his knees so hard, that he was undoubtedly going to be feeling it in the morning.  
  
John probably went to scold at him about being careful but was cut off when Sherlock licked the head of his cock.  
  
“But I like you very much and I’m also an idiot for not doing this any sooner.” He pulled back with a grin, beaming up at John who was looking down at Sherlock all gooey eyed.  
  
Sherlock kept the eye contact as he licked a stripe up the underside of John’s cock.  
  
“I know how to stop an argument with you now.” He grinned before closing his lips around John and swallowing until he hit the back of Sherlock throat because even though he was a man of great self control he had lost it somewhere. He could have self control some other time.  
  
All he could taste and smell was John. He thought for a moment how he could stay there for ever and realized it would be terribly impractical, unsanitary, eventually unsatisfying for John, and his own knees would be aching soon enough.  
  
“Bloody fucking christ, that’s not fair.” John’s fingers found their way into Sherlock’s hair again. Sherlock pulled back with a filthy pop.  “Not fucking fair but keep doing that. Do that again.” The doctor babbled.  
  
Sherlock, not one to generally listen to other’s direction, actually did listen to John. He listened because he had been thinking about how John would taste and smell and feel in his mouth for far too long. To finally be able to gather all of that information was sending Sherlock’s mind into overdrive. There was no way he could collect and store everything away so he forced himself to just enjoy it. Which was very hard to do because his brain normally did not work like that.  
  
The Matchmaker dug his fingers into John’s thigh with one hand and the other took a firm hold of the base of his cock and absolutely worshiped John.  
  
“Stop, if you want to do anything else right now, you have to stop.” John tugged at his hair.  
  
Sherlock, again, listened to John and rose back to his feet. “Good because I’m aching to have you inside of me.”  
  
John let out a huff of air, like he couldn’t believe what Sherlock had just said. He didn’t say anything else, instead he kissed him.  
  
Sherlock started to pull John to the living room, mid snog, while John started to pull the other way.  
  
“Where are you going?” John asked between kisses.  
  
“Sofa.”  
  
“Sofa?”   
  
Sherlock nipped a John’s bottom lip so he paused for a moment.   
  
“Impractical, too small. Bed.” The doctor put a hand on the small of Sherlock’s back and led him that way.  
  
“Have I ever told you that you’re brilliant?”  
  
“You just said I was an idiot.” John said as they bumped into a wall of the hallway.  
  
Sherlock just shrugged as they finally made it into his bedroom.  
  
“Tell me,” John sucked a kiss on to Sherlock’s shoulder. “Tell me you have lube and a condom because if not, then we have to go all the way up stairs and that’s just too much effort. I think we are lucky we made it this far.”  
  
“I do.” Sherlock nodded before the back of his knees hit the bed and they both tumbled on top of the duvet. “Always prepared.”  
  
“Good, that’s, good.”  
  
They arranged themselves on Sherlock’s bed so John was settled between Sherlock’s legs.   
  
The Doctor started laughing.  
  
Sherlock frowned, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at him. “What? I believe I’m fairly average and I —”  
  
“No, no, nothing about you… you’re… you’re amazing and beautiful — fucking gorgeous. I just had another moment where I couldn’t believe this was happening and it came out in a bloody giggle!” John shook his head while Sherlock just rolled his eyes and reached over to his side table to find the lubricant and condoms. “I’m sorry for laughing then, not a good moment.”  
  
“I don’t care, John, just shag me.” Sherlock tossed the lube at the other man and it hit him on his shoulder.  
  
His shoulder! Sherlock forgot to take in John’s scar. How on earth did he not think about doing that? Sherlock had seen glimpses of the marred flesh but never close enough of long enough. Then he finally had a chance to map it out and commit it to memory and he hadn’t even blinked at it. At least he would have more chances.  
  
John placed a kiss on his inner thigh then climbed back up to be face to face with Sherlock, “I can’t make up my mind how I want to do all this.”  
  
“Don’t think.”  
  
“Mmm, that’s something coming from you.” He nudged Sherlock’s nose with his as the man heard the tube click open. “I can’t be in enough places at once.”  
  
“Plenty of time.” His fingers danced over the scarring of John’s shoulder while the other man spilled lubricant into his hand. The intricate patterns of the slightly raised smooth flesh felt nice under his fingertips. He wanted to see what it felt like against his tongue but John sat back on his knees with a wide grin.  
  
“You’re very excited about… sticking your bits inside of me.”  
  
“Sticking your bits,” John snickered, leaning forward just a bit. Sherlock could see John eyes darting over random parts of his body. It was like he didn’t know where to look. “How unSherlock of you to say.”  
  
“I’m around —” Sherlock’s mind short circuited once again as John’s finger gently pressed against his entrance.   
  
“… Me far too much? Not nearly enough, I think.” He said softly as he pressed his finger into Sherlock slowly, so slow Sherlock let out an annoyed groan.  
  
“I am not a virgin and have quite the experience with bottoming and when I masturbate I enjoy stimulating my prostate. This shouldn’t take terribly long.” Sherlock took a few deep breaths, relaxing himself for John.  
  
“You… saying words… like that… you’re going to give me a heart attack.” John pressed his sweaty forehead against the said of Sherlock’s bent knee as he slowly worked his finger deeper.  
  
“You have a healthy heart, you’ll be ok.”  
  
John turned his head, smirking as his hand wrapped around Sherlock’s cock.  
  
“What?”  
  
Sherlock felt John’s finger bend slightly and move deeper inside of him. Then on an upstroke John rubbed his finger over his prostate.  
  
“Oh — OH!” Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and clenched the duvet in his hands.  
  
“You make the same noise when you made a break through in your case.” John kissed his kneecap. “I had a feeling I could make you do it again.”  
  
“You’re brilliant.” Sherlock groaned as John pressed another finger into him. “You’re brilliant.”  
  
“I enjoy you saying that.”  
  
Sherlock opened his eyes again to see John admiring him with the most affectionate look on his face. It made Sherlock make a funny noise at the back of his throat. He scrunched his face afterwards.  
  
“What’s wrong, did I hurt you?”  
  
“No, I just wasn’t expecting that noise.”  
  
John chuckled, “Right.” He went on to silently preparing Sherlock.  
  
After a few long moments Sherlock reached for the condom by his head before passing it down to John.  
  
“Now? You can’t be ready?”  
  
“Yes, I’ll be fine.” Sherlock assured him as John eased his fingers out carefully.  
  
Sherlock chewed at his bottom lip while he waited for John to get himself ready.  
  
“You want it like this or…”  
  
“No, this is fine.”  
  
“You’re going to be cheesy and romantic, hmm? You want to see me?” John moved closer to Sherlock.  
  
“No, you want to see me.” Sherlock corrected even though John was right. “You enjoy the intimacy.”  
  
“As you do.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Say you want the intimacy.”  
  
“This is strange dirty talk.” Sherlock smirked up at John.  
  
“I just enjoy having you in this position.” John’s right hand slid up Sherlock’s torso and rested on his shoulder. “You’re vulnerable and you’re rarely that way.”  
  
Sherlock felt the head of John’s cock press against him teasingly. He curled his toes just at the thought of what was going to happen next.  
  
“I want the intimacy,” Sherlock rasped and tried to push against John, like the greedy man that he is, but John kept his hand firmly on his hip.  
  
Without anymore teasing John moved his hips forward and easily sunk into Sherlock.  
  
“Fuck,” They both said in unison when John was buried completely inside of him.  
  
John let out a low deep laugh while all Sherlock could do was wrap his legs around John’s waist to pull him impossibly closer. He got what he wanted because John was kissing him again.  
  
Sherlock was on sensory overload. The feel of John’s skin. The slick of their sweat and the lube. The fullness of John inside of him. The sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. The smell of John. It was a lot.  
  
He could tell that John wasn’t going to last very long and that was fine with him because he almost wanted to just get the first time over with because he knew that the second time was going to be better and he would be more relaxed. Not that he wasn’t enjoying it. It was just very overwhelming.  
  
“Do you want to change positions or do you want to — ah, fuck — want to come like this?” John asked after wrapping a hand around Sherlock’s cock.  
  
“No, this is… this is… fine… perfect.”  
  
“You’re not… not getting enough.”  
  
“Ridiculous.” John moved his hips faster and Sherlock arched his back and braced his hand back against the headboard.  
  
The orgasm felt like it started at Sherlock’s toes before rolling over his entire body. He heard himself cursing and saying somethings without even really wanting to say it. Then everything went white and his ears rang, probably because he couldn’t breath right. That didn’t matter though.  
  
Sherlock was vaguely aware of John finishing then falling, rather gently, on top of him and beginning to laugh — again.  
  
“Will you stop laughing?” Sherlock nudged him after he opened his again.  
  
“Sorry, I won’t next time.” John kissed his shoulder before pulling out of Sherlock, carefully.  
  
“Well, I don’t want to to not laugh, ever, but it’s getting rather excessive.” Sherlock snorted.  
  
“Hopefully I didn’t ruin anything.” John rolled off of him.  
  
“Mmm.” Sherlock’s eyelids felt heavy. “Of course you didn’t. It was… brilliant.”  
  
“Go to sleep, we’ll chat tomorrow.”  
  
“Oh, joy, talking.” Sherlock joked after a long yawn.   
  
For some reason he dreamt of Victor.

***

John woke up and let out a content sigh, once he remembered he was in Sherlock’s bed. He had shagged Sherlock last night, finally. He had thought about it for nearly a year and he had loved him for almost half of that time and it all came together.  
  
He looked at the clock to see it was well after 11am, which probably explained Sherlock’s absence because the man never slept-in much.   
  
The last time John, himself slept that late was probably when he was in the hospital but the previous twenty-four hours were such a whirlwind that he really need it.  
  
John sat up in bed to find Sherlock sitting on the floor in front of his wardrobe, going through a box that looked like the one he kept client wedding invitations in.  
  
“What are you doing?” John asked while he rummaged around for his pants.   
  
“I still think about Victor, is that bad?”  
  
“Um, I don’t think so. You loved him and you lost him. I doubt you, no, I know you didn’t deal with it really.” He gave up on his pants because he suddenly remembered were in the kitchen still, along with the rest of his clothes. John just wrapped himself up in the sheet and joined Sherlock on the floor to find that the other man was looking at old case notes and newspaper clippings.   
  
“It doesn’t make you jealous?”  
  
“Why should it? It makes me sad that you’re so bloody affected by it still. It’s been years and you haven’t let yourself move on.”  
  
“But if I were still with Victor I would have never met you.” He said, holding a picture of a decapitated body.  
  
“What type of bollocks is that to go on about? Of course you wouldn’t have met me because you would have been solving crimes and you wouldn’t have ended up in the restaurant but you did. You’re not the type to play that what if game, Sherlock. Actually you are but not with this stuff, relationship stuff. What happened, happened and here we are.”  
  
“It’s just strange because if I’m your match and I was also Victor’s match—“  
  
“You’re talking soul mates here, not just matches. That’s awfully romantic and out of character for you.”  
  
Sherlock frowned, “Yes, I am and I hate thinking like that but it’s strange, isn’t it?”  
  
“I don’t know. You’re thinking far too much, stop it. I’m just happy where we are right now. What are you doing with your old investigation stuff?”  
  
“Thinking about returning to it.”  
  
“You should, you’re brilliant.”  
  
“If I do, you have to promise me not to get kidnapped by some evil criminal mastermind.”  
  
“I’m not sure if I can promise that but I swear I’ll do my best.” John chuckled. “Look, you’re so good at this stuff, Sherlock, and I know that you enjoy doing it much more than matchmaking. You should go back to it, do what you really want to do with your life.”  
  
“Do you know I haven’t seen you limp since before the wedding? Aside from when you thought I wasn’t going to date you.” Sherlock abruptly changed the topic.  
  
“Um, no, actually.” He couldn’t remember the last time he used his cane.  
  
“It’s because you’re not alone with me. You were so worried about being by yourself for sometime but you’re finally not.”  
  
John smiled, “That must inflate your ego that you made my limp disappear.”  
  
“A bit but now I’m challenged to keep it away.”  
  
“Very true.” John nodded as their doorbell rang.  
  
“Probably Lestrade.” Sherlock stood up.  
  
“What for?” John’s heart dropped a bit, remembering he had actually shot two men last night.  
  
“Just follow up for the case, probably some paper work. Don’t worry, John.” Sherlock assured him as he stood up, grabbing his robe to put over his pjs.  
  
“Ok, I’ll trust you.” John rolled his eyes as he went to look for some clothes to wear. He prayed that Sherlock would make the clothes on the floor of the kitchen disappear before letting Lestrade in.  
  
When he was finally dressed, in too long for him pj bottoms and one of Sherlock’s old t-shirts, he went out into the living room to find Sherlock giving Lestrade a run down of his investigation. Thankfully leaving out the part where they actually went to find the art warehouse.  
  
The clothes were obviously still on the floor because Sherlock probably didn’t care.  
  
“So, you know, two of the blokes were shot when we got there last night?” Lestrade said with a hint of a smile.  
  
“Really now? Must have been related to the whole mafia thing I told you about.” Sherlock sat down at the kitchen table as John went to make tea.  
  
“Yeah, probably.” Lestrade nodded. “So, can I count on you to start consulting with us permanently again?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged, “I suppose, only because I can only imagine how many crimes have gone unsolved or solved incorrectly with the idiots you’ve been working with the last years.”  
  
Instead of getting insulted Lestrade grinned and shut his notebook, “Excellent, see you lads later then. I’ll be in touch.”  
  
The DI left them alone and John finished up making tea in silence as Sherlock sat at the table, clearly thinking again.  
  
“What’s wrong?” John asked after he set down Sherlock’s mug.  
  
“I’m happy.”  
  
He laughed, “I’m sorry?”  
  
“No, it’s good. It’s just… strange.”  
  
“Well, I want to make it not strange, let’s make it a regular thing, yeah?”  
  
Sherlock nodded, “Sure… maybe you should change your blog. Instead of it being about boring people getting married it can be about the crimes we solve.”  
  
“We?”  
  
“I could use your medical knowledge as well as your gun at times. You’re also good with people, which helps in many situations.”  
  
“I’m all right with that, as long as you want to do it.” John took a sip of his tea. “So, what’s on for today?”  
  
“I’m finally going to look at those feet you gave me.”  
  
“Lovely,” John grimaced. “Just wait until I have something to eat and make sure you disinfected everything afterward. We should ask Mrs H about converting 221C into a lab for you.”  
  
“Mmm and obviously to the eating and disinfecting.”  
  
“Obviously? You don’t do either of those things most of the time.”  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
John shook his head, “Sure you do. What do you want for breakfast?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“You have to eat!”  
  
“Toast.”  
  
“And eggs, I’m making eggs.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
John went to get up to and move to the fridge, Sherlock instead grabbed him and pulled him into his lap. “Hey, you can’t do this just to avoid eating or something.”  
  
“I’m not, I’m just doing it because I can.”  
  
“Novelty will wear off.”  
  
“Doubtful.” Sherlock’s lips quirked a quick smile before he kissed John.  
  
“Sherlock,” John played with a curl.  
  
“Yes, I know you love me.”  
  
John groaned loudly, “You prat, that’s not how it’s supposed to happen the first time.”  
  
“But you know, that I know.”  
  
“But I wanted to actually say it.” He went to move but Sherlock held him tight around the waist.  
  
“I apologize.”  
  
“You don’t.”  
  
“Yes, I do. I love you as well, if you didn’t know.”  
  
“I did.”  
  
“I know but apparently you like these things said.”  
  
John just shook his head because he was in love with a mad man but completely happy about it.


	18. Epilouge

“Maybe we should replace this picture of Sherlock and Victor with one of you and Sherlock now, love.” Mrs Holmes smiled at John as he stood in the sitting room on Christmas Eve, admiring the family photos again.  
  
“No, keep it. It’s a nice picture.” He smiled at it. “We’ll just put one up here with Sherlock and me then.”  
  
“No.” Sherlock snapped from behind them. “We all know what John looks like, we do not need our photo on the mantle. You can toss that one of Victor and I out.”  
  
“Nonsense.” Mrs Holmes tutted as she and John sat down for tea, joining Mr Holmes. Sherlock stayed standing.

“Why isn’t Mycroft here yet? He usually retrieves me. Did we get rid of him now that we have John around?”  
  
“He’s arriving with Gregory tomorrow. I guess the Gregory is spending today with his girls and then their with their mother tomorrow.”  
  
“So Mycroft factors into not being here today, how?” Sherlock finally sat next to John.  
  
“He has things he needed to take care of.”  
  
“I could have had things to take care of. John and I just finished a case.”  
  
“Yes, but you finished with it before today.”  
  
“I could have found something.”  
  
John hit Sherlock on the knee, “Get over it.”  
  
“Fine.” He sat back with a huff.  
  
“How is the business going? I read all of John’s blog entries about the matches and the crimes, so fascinating. But I’m worried about you boys and what you get up to, in the investigations of course.”  
  
“It’s fine Mummy, John’s a very good body guard and personal assistant.”  
  
“Oi! We work together.”  
  
Sherlock smirked.  
  
“He’s annoying you on purpose.” Mr Holmes pointed out. “Always did that as a child, drove us mad.”  
  
“I know, he likes to annoy me for some reason.”  
  
“Now, John, Sherlock says you’re going to be joining a rugby team?” Mrs Holmes changed the subject.  
  
Eventually it was time to retire and this year John got to share Sherlock’s childhood bed with him. It was tight but comfortable and warm.  
  
“Do you want to shag? I hear that’s the thing that’s done in childhood beds.”  
  
John laughed, “I doubt there’s enough room to do anything.”  
  
“We’re very creative, I’ve three… no six… twelve, at least, positions in mind.”  
  
The doctor let out a low whistle.  
  
“I can’t tell if you’re amenable or impressed.”  
  
“It’s just weird, your parents are only a room down.”  
  
“Ok, we’ll just sleep.” Sherlock rested his forehead against John’s shoulder. He was curled up behind him, and clinging to him like normal.  
  
“Merry Christmas, I’m glad you listened to me about coming.”  
  
“I know you enjoy the whole family aspect of it when you didn’t have much of that growing up.”  
  
“Thank you for making me happy.”  
  
“It’s not a very difficult thing.” He could feel Sherlock’s lips turn up into a smile. “Maybe next year Harry will be sober enough for her to join.”  
  
John snorted, “Even if she was, I don’t think it’d be a good idea for you two to be in the same room again.”  
  
“She started it.” Sherlock defended himself.  
  
There had been an incident when she came down to visit John for a weekend a month or so earlier. The matchmaking detective decided that it was ok to tell Harry how she wasn’t a good person and needed to clean herself up. Harry said Sherlock wasn’t good enough for John. The whole thing was just lovely. She wasn’t even drunk yet.  
  
“Child.” John scoffed.  
  
Things for quiet for awhile but he knew that Sherlock was still awake because his breathing hadn’t steadied. He could tell the man was thinking.  
  
“Well, out with it.” John said, cutting into the silence that had enveloped the room.  
  
“I’d like for you to spend all your Christmases here. You make them very tolerable.”  
  
“I’d like that too.” He squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “Now go to sleep, you have a long day of annoying your brother and Greg.”  
  
“Fine, goodnight.”  
  
“Mmm, night, love.”  
  
As John drifted off to sleep with Sherlock curled around him like always, he thought about how he’d always like to fall asleep like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done and done, thank you for reading! Comments always welcome!


End file.
